75mg of Truth
by Chapucera
Summary: After three years of an unhappy marriage to a man she scarcely knows, Christine flees, hoping for a better life away from him. Yet can she truly escape Erik? Modern-day.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings, dear readers, and welcome to my third story! **

**This story is even more experimental than my first two, since I´m trying to cure my aversion to angst by holding my nose and jumping right into it. I think you´ll see what I mean. **

**You may or may not like the Erik in this story. This one´s really rather sinister, I´m afraid!**

**As always, I am grateful for constructive criticism and any feedback you might be inclined to give. Writing is relatively new to me, so there´s a lot of trial and error to my work. **

**Thanks to all for reading! **

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** 8:00 am. Worklife and Family Counseling Services, TriCounty Hospital.**

_So, this is the woman Julie told me about, _thought Joyce Horowitz as she entered her office and glanced at the person awaiting her. _Hardly more than a girl, really… Let´s see what this says…Twenty-four years old… Mother dead… father dead…no surviving family, beyond the husband she´s run away from. Well, let´s see what we can accomplish…_

"Christine…._Smith?_" inquired the counsellor sceptically, looking from the clipboard in her hands to the woman near her office window.

"It´s not really my name – you´ve probably guessed that," answered Christine, turning from the window to regard the woman who had just walked in.

"Ah-_hah…_well, I certainly understand, under the circumstances. Everything you say to me will, of course, be confidential, dear," said Joyce in her most soothing tones. Her smile was practiced, maternal.

Christine glanced out the window once more, then came towards Joyce, uncertain which chair to sit in.

The psychologist continued to smile, but she was noting the younger woman´s every movement. _Does she think she´ll offend me if she sits in the wrong chair? _

_Pretty thing,__ and graceful, too, _Joyce added to herself, and she watched as Christine´s eyes scanned the room quickly before coming to rest on her. _But she _is _nervous and unsure of herself. _ Joyce´s hand reflexively went to a tray full of hard candy which she kept on her desk and she offered it to Christine, who nearly jumped, then refused, sighing.

"Raoul De Chagny told me to come to you," ventured Christine quietly as she finally sank into a chair. She clasped her hands together on her lap tightly as though they might close the world out.

"Yes, dear, I know. He´s told me a lot about you – a lot of good things, don´t worry! But he tells me you´re having difficulties."

"Yes, Ms. Horowitz –"

"Call me Joyce!"

"Yes, Joyce, but I need to handle this on my own. I tried to tell Raoul that…" She trailed off.

"´_I left my husband because he imprisoned me_,`" quoted Joyce, ignoring Christine´s last comment and looking at the clipboard. "This is the explanation you´ve provided for fleeing your marriage, but it´s not all, is it? Did he abuse you physically, Christine?"

"No! Never! No, it wasn´t like that…"

"Then what was it like, dear? Raoul says you´re always nervous, always tense – What are you afraid of? You´ve been working for De Chagny and Lunden for three months now. Surely you´ve had time to relax and enjoy your new life!"

"_My new life_," parroted Christine bitterly. She hesitated. "You´ll keep everything I say secret?"

"Let me put it to you this way – if I don´t, my career´s over and I´m at the mercy of a judge. So you can tell me whatever you want," Joyce said, her voice gentle once more.

Christine looked at Joyce – at her salt-and-pepper hair, at her practical, no-nonsense clothes, down to her sensible shoes. She glanced at her bookshelf and observed books on psychology, on sociology, several feminist titles, and, implausibly, a romance novel. There were several photos of a woman with a baby on her desk. Always the same baby – _her first grandbaby. _

"I met my husband – Erik – when I was a student," Christine began tentatively.

"Go on."

"I was minoring in voice, and he was my private instructor. He´s more than gifted – he´s a genius, and it was quite an honor. He refused to charge me for my lessons, even though we made incredible progress together."

"He was a professor with the university, then?"

"Yes…well, no. This is going to sound stupid, but I never found out what exact position he held at the university, or why people were so deferential to him. He was doing research – biotech stuff, and it involved chemistry, too. That much I know.

"It´s surprising, I know, but it´s true. Erik´s a true polymath. He´s a genius as a musician, and he´s a genius of the sciences, he´s an architect…. He's a marvellous teacher, but you know something? I think he´s never entered a lecture hall. The university had an understanding with him, and he wasn't required to teach at all, as long as he researched and published.

"So, he never instructed anyone but me, and he sure wasn´t teaching me chemistry. I never knew why he decided to train my voice. I just assume it was a combination thing – he liked my voice, and the possibility that I might abandon it bothered him. I was having problems at the time."

"What kind of problems?"

"My father had been ill, and he went into hospice. The medical bills had just ruined us, you know, and we had to sell our house about the time he went into hospice care. So, I was working part-time, trying to keep up with my studies, and trying to see my father as much as I could."

"Ah. So this Erik felt sympathy for you."

"Sympathy? I think he understood, in his cold way, but I can´t imagine his feeling sympathy for me. He was always all intellect and no feelings!"

"And yet you married him?"

"Yes, I´m getting to that. My father died, which was expected, but I nearly fell apart. I barely handled the funeral and the wrangling with insurance companies. At the end of it all, I was without money and late on my rent. I was halfway through my senior year, and I was going to have to leave school. That´s when Erik proposed marriage."

"Wait! You had been dating him?"

"No, I only saw him during lessons, though he became increasingly present…well, he was always watching me, it seemed."

"So, he _did _have feelings for you."

Christine snorted. "If you consider a proprietary interest to be a _feeling, _then he did have feelings for me. At any rate, he proposed marriage. It was to be a marriage of convenience, he said. He needed a wife, and he came very close to tolerating me, so I would do. It was clear I needed financial help, and he would provide me with that. I accepted."

"You accepted? Just like that?"

Christine hesitated. "You don´t know Erik. He can be regal when he wishes, and walk into a room and command everyone´s attention. Or, he can glide in completely unnoticed. It depends on what he wants to do. He has a presence you can feel – a magnetism, both animal and mental…well, you just have to experience it. I was attracted to him, very attracted to him."

A flicker of scepticism in Joyce´s eyes stopped Christine from continuing.

"You don´t believe me," she murmured.

"Of _course _I believe you, dear!" responded Joyce hastily. "But I would like you to think back on exactly what you´ve just told me. The person you´ve just described is superhuman, quite frankly. You have escaped a person who, to you, is incredibly dominant, and – well, let´s just say it! – alpha-male. You´re nervous, you´re frightened, and so this Erik has become more than human to you, whether you love him or hate him.

"I can see quite clearly what we have to work on, Christine. You have to break free of Erik! You´ve broken free physically, but you have to do it mentally, as well. He does not rule your destiny – _you _do, and only you."

Christine simply looked at Joyce, her brow knitted. Joyce watched her carefully, and she seemed to be considering what to say next.

"Perhaps I´ve gotten ahead of myself," she finally admitted. "Christine, if you don´t mind, I ´m going to ask you some questions about your marriage itself. I want to know what you´ve been through. Will it be too painful for you?"

"I guess not…not if it´s confidential."

"Very well. Christine, you say you ran away from your husband because he would not let you leave the house. Were things like this from the very beginning of your marriage?"

"No, they weren´t. Erik always seemed to spend a lot of time watching me, it´s true, but he had his professional life, and I had my studies, my recitals, my future career. I had friends and even a social life outside my marriage. My closest friend was Meg, and then there was her boyfriend, Jack…"

Joyce looked at Christine sharply, a touch of suspicion in her demeanor.

"´Her boyfriend, Jack´?" she prompted.

"I´m sorry," said Christine suddenly, and Joyce was surprised to see that she was fighting tears. She fumbled in her purse and extracted a Kleenex. "I´m sorry. There´s so much to this! And I can´t talk anymore right now, okay? I just can´t…"

Joyce approached her and placed a maternal hand on her shoulder. Christine leaned towards her almost imperceptibly, feeling her warmth. She smelled of baby powder and Oscar de la Renta, and it was oddly comforting. She let the tears flow.

"Don´t worry, Christine. I´ll be your shoulder to cry on. Look, our time´s nearly up today, but I´m going to give you my card and personal phone number, so you can call me anytime, okay? I´m here to help. Remember that, dear. In fact, I think we should arrange to meet twice a week – but don´t worry! The first meeting is always the hardest, and you´ve been brave, very brave! Look," -- She left Christine to walk over to her desk and opened her agenda -- "I´ve got an empty hour at eight in the morning on Thursday. Is that too soon for you?"

"I have an appointment with the obstetrician that day," said Christine, who had regained her composure. "Would Friday do?"

"I think I could arrange it. Wait a minute…appointment with an obstetrician?" Joyce inquired, frozen to the spot.

"Yes. You see, I´m pregnant. Four months along."

* * *

The silence was what most unnerved her.

She had seen the man arrive, searching the shadows for possible witnesses. _Fool!_ she had berated him mentally as she ducked carefully out of sight. _You thought you might trap Erik? _

It was clear that they had run out of professionals. This man had looked up at the row houses in front of him, patting at his coat pocket nervously. _Why not let the whole world know you´re packing heat? If even _I _can tell…_

He had been inside – _with Erik! _-- for half an hour now, and she was grateful that she was witness to nothing.

Although Erik always worked alone, there were rumors. There _would _be rumors about a man so terrifying. His knowledge of chemistry, they said, served him well. His knowledge of human anatomy was the subject of horrified whispers, too – of how exactly the nervous system worked, and where to apply specific substances in order to produce pain of the desired type and magnitude.

She shuddered. The night was still, dark and peaceful, and yet…there was a vacuum to it. Not so much as the chirping of a cricket could be heard. It was as though Erik´s ability to _silence_ had extended to Nature as well, and everything hung suspended until he finished the business at hand.

Suddenly, she heard a soft _thud_, as though something massive had hit every wall in the house with equal force from the inside out. She looked: the windows, which had glowed with lamplight before, now flickered and glowed with something else. She ducked into the car and turned the key in the ignition. The metal clicked, but nothing happened.

"Going somewhere, Jeanne?"

The angelic voice was calm, amused even, but flames now filled the windows of the house he had just left.

"Of…of course not. Not without you! I wanted to be ready…"

"I believe I stipulated that I would be the one driving." She could see his eyes now. They floated toward her through the darkness, and dim lamplight, mixed with smoke now, hazily framed his tall silhouette.

"Yes, I know, but I thought it might be time to start the car…but it won´t start!"

There was a quick click as the car hood closed. "I shall drive."

She knew better than to question him. Besides, he had come nearer, and his presence, as usual, was overpowering. She slid into the passenger´s side quickly, trying not to betray her fear of him.

"Erik," she ventured, "we should hurry. Someone will see us."

"They are all indoors watching television," Erik sneered, "and I am in no particular hurry. Our man, it seems, has been killed in a gas explosion. He really should have checked the house for leaks!"

"But the fire, Erik…won´t it spread to the other houses?"

"It will not." He glanced at the row houses appreciatively – _the loving glance of the architect _– then turned his gaze back to Jeanne. His white half-mask reflected the lamplight. "These are older houses with brick walls separating them. In this instance, they will act as efficient firewalls. The fire will only burn at the front of the house, so none of the wooden structures towards the back will be affected. The flames should be spectacular in about five minutes, but the fire department will have no trouble putting them out. You don´t think me completely unscrupulous, do you, Jeanne? After all, I have a wife to think about!" His chuckle was low, beautiful, and humourless.

Jeanne jumped at the sound of the car engine turning over, and she looked at Erik in surprise.

"Why so tense, Jeanne? It´s really quite simple. The car starts quite easily when the battery is connected."

They pulled out just as the sirens of fire engines could be heard in the distance.

* * *

Raoul had saved her from killing herself; she was certain of it. He had been a godsend in those early days, and she was so grateful to him for all that he had done for her that when he had insisted on her going to counselling, she had consented, in spite of her misgivings.

When she had abandoned her marriage, she had travelled west instinctively. In the confusion of her hurried departure, she had hardly been able to interpret her own thoughts, but by the time two days had passed, her mind had focused on one name: _Raoul. _He had been a friend – a very dear friend. She had not seen him since she was fourteen – and that was good, since Erik had no idea of his existence or of what he had meant to her.

Of all the living people in the world besides Raoul, only Meg might possibly remember how close he and Christine had once been. Perhaps not. So many years had passed, after all.

She had had surprisingly little trouble finding him, and his welcome had been warm and his sympathy quick. He had given her a job with the family firm, in spite of her condition, and he had been true to his promise to care for her.

"A little late, aren´t we, Christine?" said Angela, seemingly emerging from a wall as Christine hurried into De Chagny and Lunden´s offices.

_Oh, no! Angela!_

Angela Fanning was a junior attorney at the De Chagny firm, and she had been dating Raoul for two years. It was an office romance of the worst kind, since Angela was cold, supercilious, and arrogant with her inferiors whenever Raoul was not present. No one was permitted to forget that she was dating the De Chagny scion, and that she fully expected a more permanent relationship with him in due time. She resented Raoul´s friendship with Christine, especially since he refused to divulge anything to her about it.

Christine hurried past Angela, acknowledging her comment with a slight nod, and headed to her office. The woman followed her, however, her red power suit fairly glowing in competition with the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway.

"I suppose it´s okay that you´re late today. I took a peek at your agenda, and I see that you had a _counselling _session. I suppose that now that you´ve got your head sorted out, you can get to work on the Strickland brief."

"Don´t worry, Angela," Christine said in neutral tones, "I´m getting to it right away."

"Correction, Christine – you _won´t _be getting to it right away, since you will be preparing my coffee _right away_. You know how I like it. And don´t let your hand slip on the sugar this time."

"Right," said Christine calmly. _Raoul must still be downtown. _

"Raoul, of course, is out with a client, and will not be back for another hour at least," added Angela, smiling maliciously as she walked to her office.

Christine sighed. _Another long morning. _

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Nadir Karrubi wiped the palms of his hands on his jeans as he clicked his cell phone shut. He had been lucky again, but he did not know how long his luck would hold out. Erik would find out the truth eventually, and he would never forgive his lying to him. He never forgave anything.

_Perhaps I could return to Tehran. _But, no, Erik would hunt him down, even there. Besides, there was the question of his role in the assassination of that Indian diplomat there all those years ago. The Iranian government would not have forgotten that so easily.

He cursed the Fates. How could he have lost track of Christine? It seemed so simple – tracking devices in her cell phone and in every suitcase and bag in the house – he had insisted upon it. Christine had flown, as Erik had suspected she would, and Nadir had followed her as closely as he could.

The girl had proven elusive, however. She had ditched the cell phone at a bus station in Omaha, but Nadir had been unperturbed. She may have suspected that she could be tracked via her cell phone, but she would never notice what he had placed so seamlessly into the lining of her suitcase.

Two days after discovering her cell phone in the trash, he discovered Christine´s empty suitcase at another bus station, this time in Chicago. It had travelled without her.

That was when true panic had set in.

Weeks of following every lead had ensued. Weeks of making up stories to tell Erik every day when he called to check with him. _Yes, I´ve seen her today – she´s at a small hotel north of Chicago. Yes, I followed her as she went out to buy dinner – nothing fancy. She just dined at a fast-food place. What´s that? Yes, you´ll have to scold her for that. She needs to take better care of herself. _

Weeks of lies, and of the immense relief of knowing that Erik was extremely _busy_ right now tying up loose ends. That meant he still had time -- time to find Christine before Erik descended upon him.

Nadir had no doubt that Erik would live through this current _situation_. It did not matter how formidable his enemies were – he would dispatch them. Then the fateful call would come.

_Christine! How I wish I could wring your lovely, long neck! _ Nadir thought, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

What had Erik seen in her? She was beautiful, it was true, but Erik´s money and prestige could easily have won him a dozen such beauties. The day Erik had announced that he was taking a wife, Nadir had been dumbfounded, but he had understood. Erik was, after all, eccentric. He was as disciplined as a monk, and his lifestyle required peace. His needs were better served by a predictable, monogamous relationship than by taking lovers or whores.

Christine had seemed the perfect mouse for the job. On the few occasions he had seen her, her manners had been exquisite, but she had hardly spoken. Nadir had concluded that she was not very intelligent, but now he cursed himself for underestimating her.

Perhaps Erik would have the good sense to let her go. Was he worried that she would expect alimony in the event of a divorce?

He was certain that Erik did not love Christine. Was he even capable of love? Erik was polite, even considerate, to Christine, but there was nothing in his bearing around her or in his treatment of her which indicated that he might feel love for her. He scarcely seemed affectionate.

_Why doesn´t he just divorce her and get another woman? _Nadir thought to himself in irritation. _Why does he pursue her? _

Nadir sighed and put his bag into the trunk of his Corolla. Another lead: someone who looked like Christine had been seen on a bus heading toward the Westfalia. Someone wearing a tie-dyed blouse.


	2. Chapter 2

**My deepest gratitude to all those who have sent me s****o much wonderful encouragement, both signed and unsigned! I try to respond to reviews, unless they´re unsigned or anonymous. I kind of worry about bothering people!**

**Anyhow, I hope you like this chapter. I´m hoping to keep up a once-a-week update schedule, by the way. **

**Thank you for reading!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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**8 am, Friday morning. Worklife and Family Counseling Services, TriCounty Hospital.**

"So, Christine, I believe our session ended rather abruptly the other day," said Joyce, seating herself in a chair so near Christine that their knees were nearly touching. "I believe you told me that you´re expecting?"

Christine nodded and even blushed.

"That complicates things for you, doesn´t it?" Joyce continued.

"Yes, it does," Christine admitted. "I know what you´re thinking – I could have aborted, but I never wanted to. I want this baby, Joyce, even if I´ll be raising it alone."

"Very well. We´ll work together to come up with some type of a plan for you to deal with this, then. But I think we need to work through your past some more now, okay? You were telling me about your marriage…"

"Yes, well, I really didn´t tell you anything much about my marriage. There wasn´t much of a marriage really – there were´t two people. There was only Erik, you know.

"He was working on research involving genetics and skin grafts – biotechnical stuff. He had made some sort of a breakthrough. I didn´t hear about that from Erik, though. I heard about it from Jack."

"From Jack?"

"Jack Jacobs. He was a grad student on Erik´s research team, and he started to date my best friend, Meg, shortly after I was married. The three of us were close."

"Was your husband jealous?"

"I suppose you could call it jealousy. Jack was a really good boyfriend to Meg, and he was a real friend to me. He would talk to me, even ask questions about me. He cared about how I felt…"

"And your husband didn´t?"

"He never told me about himself, or his work, and he always avoided answering my questions. He never _shared _himself, but I could feel him absorbing _me_! I know it sounds stupid this way, but I really don´t know any other way to describe it!" Christine stopped, fighting the tears that threatened.

Joyce patted her elbow in an attempt to comfort her. It worked: Christine forced herself to focus on her therapist´s exquisitely-manicured pink fingernails, and she took a deep breath.

"Things went smoothly at first. I was a wife to Erik within what _he_ understood to be a marriage. We slept together, but we had our separate lives. They only overlapped when it came to music. He continued to teach me and prepare me for recitals. He fully expected me to join the City Opera once I got my degree."

"What´s your degree in? You said you were only minoring in music."

"Spanish Lit."

"Oh. Excuse me for interrupting, but what did _you _want at that point, Christine? What were _your _ambitions?"

"I just wanted a job, Joyce. I know it sounds stupid, but I´ve never been ambitious. I never really saw myself wearing a power suit." Christine´s mind flew to Angela.

"You wanted to be an opera singer?"

"It was a childhood dream that I had abandoned ages ago. I mean, who really gets to that point? How many of us can dream of being Maria Callas? Erik picked up that dream, though, and he brought it to life. I haven´t told you about _his _voice. You wouldn´t believe…"

"I wouldn´t believe _what, _Christine?"

"Erik uses his voice in different ways. He can comfort with it, or he can frighten with it -- he can control people with it. It has a beauty, a hypnotic quality to it…" Christine looked at the scepticism which was patent in Joyce´s expression. "…And you don´t believe me," she finished miserably.

"I believe that you _perceived _things this way," Joyce said hesitantly. "So, your husband was intimidating at first, but he salvaged an old dream of yours…"

"And then he destroyed it," said Christine bitterly.

Joyce nodded her encouragement. Christine sighed.

"Look, before I say anything else, there´s something that I should have mentioned. It´s really the most important thing of all. You see, he wears a mask."

"A mask?"

"A half-mask. It hides a facial deformity. I think it´s probably a very bad one."

"Probably? You´ve been married for three years, and you´ve never seen it?"

"Never."

"But in your more intimate moments, how…?"

Christine blushed and looked at her lap. "He´s always insisted on a completely darkened room for that. Complete darkness."

Involuntarily, a tactile memory assaulted Christine -- _The quick contact of skin on skin, the brush of bumpy, irregular flesh against her flesh… _She blushed more deeply.

"I see. So he´s very sensitive about this deformity…"

"He really is. I think that was really the reason for some of the research he was conducting. I´m sure he was hoping to free himself of the mask. Anyway, that´s what Jack told me he thought."

"You mentioned Jack. You and he were close?"

Christine shifted in her chair uncomfortably.

"Yes, but in a platonic way. He and Meg and I used to hang out together. He made it a point to _talk _with me and get to know me, you know? We were real friends…"

"While your husband never bothered to know you. I see."

"Well, it wasn´t like that, either. Erik knew me – he knew me too well. It was uncanny. And it kind of bothered me that he knew me without having to ever _talk _with me or ask me questions, you know? It made me feel kind of … simple."

"I see. And Jack made you feel intelligent. It´s odd that you mention your relationship with Jack, though, when he was Meg´s boyfriend. Was your friendship with Jack entirely appropriate? How did Meg feel about it?"

"It was never inappropriate! And Meg didn´t mind at all! She knew me…she knows me well. We´ve been friends since childhood. Anyhow, Joyce, I thought we were talking about my marriage. Jack wasn´t _in_ my marriage…well, not until the very end." Christine had lowered her voice gradually, and her last few words were nearly inaudible. She paused, and Joyce leaned in, waiting.

"You have to understand that things were pretty weird. We lived out in the country, and so we were isolated to begin with. Erik wanted the location of our – well, _his _home, let´s face it – to remain a secret. It got to be kind of a joke between Meg, Jack and me: 'So, Christine, are you going home to the Fourth Quadrant?'

"Did I tell you the house was underground, like a bunker? Like a tomb, really – even the baseboards were black marble! He would always drive me wherever I was going and drop me off and pick me up. He was completely paranoid, but I never dared to cross him.

"At the beginning of our marriage, I had friends, I had a job at the bookstore, and I had my studies. Erik stripped everything away from me, little by little, Joyce. I could never have visitors. Fine! No visitors. The job had to go, he said. Fine! So, I left my job. Meg and Jack and I would get together, but he gradually interfered with that. Even my recitals bothered Erik. He had worked on my voice, I´ll give you that. I didn´t know my own voice, it had improved so much! But he didn´t like the attention I was beginning to get at the recitals. He became more and more controlling.

"I slipped out one night in secret because Jack and Meg wanted to get together. I don´t know what had happened to Meg, but only Jack met me, and he wanted to talk with me. He and Meg knew I was becoming isolated, and they were worried about me, he said. He handed me a book, and hidden in its pages was his phone number. He said I could call him if ever I needed someone to help me get away.

"When I returned to the house, Erik was waiting for me…" Christine closed her eyes, remembering.

"Go on," prompted Joyce.

"He was frightening. That´s all I can say. From that day forward he held me prisoner in the house. He even took the book Jack had given me!" She looked out the window, into the distance, and took in a breath of air that was like a sob.

"Did he harm you?" asked Joyce, observing her closely.

"Physically? No. He…he was furious at first, but after he had imprisoned me, he practically waited on me like a servant. He _never, ever, _raised a hand to me, Joyce. There was a strange kind of peace between us, even though I couldn´t go out…not even to pick up my birth control prescription." She grimaced.

"You were still intimate?"

"He seemed to need me more than ever that way. And I needed him, for some reason. Things were complicated."

"But you managed to escape."

"Much later. And I wouldn´t have left him, even then, if something horrible hadn´t happened."

"What happened?"

"He murdered Jack."

* * *

_Tea and sympathy with a murderer, _thought Jeanne Guiry bitterly as she prepared a cup of tea for Erik in her apartment. At least he was not difficult to please, as long as the tea was black. _None of this green, white or red tea nonsense for him! _

She poured some Scotch into her own tea as discreetly as possible, but Erik´s low chuckle notified her that he was well aware of what she was doing. _The bastard always knows! _

As frightened as Jeanne was of Erik in general, there were odd, ironic moments of peace and friendship between them. It was impossible for her to forget that once, years ago, he had helped her when she had needed it most. What defined her relationship with him? _Terror…and affection._

She sat down with him now, offering him his cup, and as he accepted it, his long fingers holding the cup with practiced delicacy, she felt curiosity tug at her.

"So, that was the last of them," she said, referring obliquely to the man whose charred body the firefighters would now be uncovering.

"Yes. Do you regret it?" Erik asked, an edge to his voice. His yellow eyes glinted in the living-room´s soft light.

She shuddered, swallowed a substantial amount of whiskey-laced tea and succeeded in holding his gaze. She noted once again the change that three months without Christine had wrought in him. He was emaciated, and his eyes were hungry, feral.

"Not at all. You know I never liked this sort of thing. But I wonder…what will you do now?"

"I will retrieve her, now that it´s safe," he said simply. "I leave tonight."

It was true, then. He had not forgotten Christine, and he did not plan to let her go. There was a fire in his eyes that had not been there since her departure, and, unguarded as he was at this moment, Jeanne could easily observe that he was eager to leave.

_Why Christine? Weren´t you miserable together? _Jeanne bit her tongue and tried to be subtle. She failed.

"A divorce would be a lot easier, wouldn´t it, Erik? You´re behaving as if Christine´s the only woman on earth, and it´s not so! Look how things were between you at the end! She was so unhappy!"

"But _I _was _not_!" he snapped, glaring at her now. Jeanne jumped slightly, and his voice softened. "I was not, and things have changed now, now that the danger has passed."

Jeanne sighed. She knew the look in his eyes. _So, it´s still an obsession. Three years, six months, and counting._

"You know, Meg still thinks that Christine ran away with Jack," Jeanne ventured.

"She will realize her error."

"And then what? Christine will tell her about Jack´s death?"

"That would be logical."

"But not even his family knows what´s become of him yet!"

"They will when I tell my people in the police force that they may break the news. His _family!"_ he sneered. "Are you aware, Jeanne, that Mr. Jacobs left a widow?"

Jeanne blanched. "That son of a bitch!"

Erik chuckled. "Indeed. Tell me, Jeanne, how goes your relationship with your daughter these days? Are you on speaking terms?"

The reaction was immediate. Jeanne stiffened and glared at Erik through narrowed, ice-blue eyes. He continued.

"_You _would condemn me for making my wife unhappy. Yet you have a _daughter _who scarcely speaks with _you, _whose privacy you have never respected, is it not so? Or is reading her diary during one of your visits not prying?"

Jeanne hesitated. "I regret it – of course I regret it. But she tells me _nothing _of her life! Do you know how I found out she was dating Jack? From her _neighbour_! She feels closer to strangers than she does to me!"

The outrage she felt directed itself at Erik, assisted by the whiskey she had poured in liberal amounts into her tea.

"So I read her diary! So what? You know, I found out a great deal about Meg, but I also learned a thing or two about Christine!"

Erik tensed immediately, and the irony vanished completely from his demeanor. He focused on Jeanne, waiting, and she knew there was no turning back. Nonetheless, she paused.

"Out with it! Now!" he hissed, and she jumped.

"Meg…Meg reminisced about a boy named Raoul. Christine and he had been close many years ago, and she…she wondered if Christine might seek him out now. It´s probably nothing, Erik!"

Erik had risen as she spoke and towered over her. He now glided to the sideboard, seized a decanter, and returned to Jeanne´s side. He poured a generous amount of spirits into what little was left of her tea until her cup was nearly full.

"The name of this boy, now. His full name, if you please."

* * *

"Hey, Christine!" Raoul said, peeking into the cubicle where she worked and smiling affably. He looked boyish as ever, his squash racquet tucked under his arm, his blonde hair fashionably tousled.

_He looks absolutely golden, _Christine thought as she turned to smile at him.

"Hey, Raoul – how was your game this morning?"

"I lost," he said, and he smiled and shrugged slightly in mock-exasperation. Although he went to a club almost every day to play squash before work, losing a game never seemed to bother Raoul. His constant good humor was bullet-proof. He perched on the corner of Christine´s desk now and pretended to look at the brief she was correcting.

"How´s Joyce treating you?" he asked softly. "Is she any help?"

"The psychologist? Well, she asks a lot of questions," Christine said.

"Well, I guess that´s normal. How are you feeling…you know…physically?" he asked.

"I´m better now. I´m in my second trimester now, you know, so I´m not feeling tired all the time anymore."

"That´s great! Listen, Christine, I have a question…" Raoul began.

"Did you ask her?" a voice interrupted eagerly.

Raoul and Christine turned to look at Julie, who stood in the doorway of the cubicle. She was a paralegal who worked in a cubicle across from Christine´s. Her imminent wedding had the entire firm abuzz, since every last person who worked there had been invited to the nuptials.

"Did you?" Julie repeated, joining Raoul to stand near Christine´s desk.

"Now, Julie, you _know _I haven´t had time yet!" spluttered Raoul.

Christine looked up at Julie curiously, waiting for her to continue.

"Raoul didn´t ask you? Well, Christine, a _little bird_ told me that you sing divinely, and you _know _my wedding is a week from now. So, I have an organist, right? And I have a singer, you know? Well, guess what?" She paused, waiting, until it became clear that she truly wanted Christine to venture a guess.

"Ummm…_what?_" asked Christine obligingly. She could hear Raoul´s discreet sigh.

"The singer cancelled! Can you _believe _it? One week before the wedding, and she does _this _to me…"

"How much were you paying her?" asked Raoul.

There was a silence.

"She was supposed to be a _friend!_" snapped Julie.

"Right," said Raoul. "Look, Christine, what Julie wanted me to ask you is whether you´ll sing at her wedding. Don´t do it if you don´t feel like it…"

"Ra_oul_!" interrupted Julie, hitting him on the arm reproachfully. "I need someone to sing at my wedding!" She turned to Christine. "It wouldn´t be in front of people, really. You would be hidden behind a screen, so that the voice would seem to be coming sort of from above, see? And the song is _Pie Jesu, _so it would start really softly…"

"Wait a minute…_Pie Jesu_? You want that sung at your wedding? Isn´t that from a _Requiem_?" asked Christine. She could feel a headache coming on.

"Well, yeah!" said Julie, looking at her blankly. "Why?"

Someone coughed, and the three turned to see Angela standing at the entrance to the cubicle. She smiled and approached them.

"You need someone to sing at your wedding, Julie?" she asked, fingering the clasp on her gold bracelet.

"Well, yes, and I was just telling Christine –"

"Oh, don´t worry about bothering Christine! I´m sure she´s much too busy! I´ll do it!" said Angela in her most dulcet tones.

Julie looked alarmed. "That´s nice of you, Angela, but – "

"That´s quite all right! Think nothing of it! Besides, _I _can sing _Pie Jesu_ – I´ve done it before, haven´t I, honey?" she asked, addressing Raoul.

"Yeah, she´s right. She´s done it before!" said Raoul, and Christine saw that he was trying not to laugh. She dropped a pencil and went gratefully under her desk to retrieve it.

Suddenly, Julie joined her beneath the desk, and Christine jumped, banging her head painfully. "Save me!" the paralegal whispered desperately, before something pulled her backwards and out from under the desk.

"I was just helping her look," Christine heard Julie´s voice murmur apologetically.

"Of course you were!" said Angela. "So, when are rehearsals?"

There was more murmured conversation which slowed and faded, and Christine emerged cautiously from beneath the desk to find herself alone in her cubicle with Julie, who was pacing, waving an angry fist, and mouthing silent curses. She turned and faced Christine.

"_Why _does the Karaoke Queen have to ruin my wedding?" she said in quiet, controlled outrage. "She always has to be the best at everything! She´s the ex-beauty queen, she speaks five languages – fluently, of course! – and she´s travelled the world. And she´s a bloody _lawyer! _ Nobody can do _anything _better than she can, and now she´s decided she´s the world´s best singer! Have you ever heard her sing?"

Christine shook her head, her eyes wide.

"Well, she doesn´t _sing, _she _howls!" _ Julie spat.

"Well, then, don´t let her sing," said Christine, rubbing her head.

"I want to keep my job, thank you very much," Julie returned irascibly. She pulled something out of her skirt pocket. "I wanted to show you this, but now it´s kind of ridiculous, isn´t it? I took the liberty of printing the programs with your name on them already."

"You _what?_" gasped Christine, and she snatched the program from Julie and looked at it in horror. It was true; "Christine Daaé, soprano," the program read, "…_Pie Jesu." _


	3. Chapter 3

**My deepest gratitude to all who read this story, and especially to those who have taken the time and trouble to review. You warm the cockles of my heart!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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**8 am, Wednesday**** morning. Worklife and Family Counseling Services, TriCounty Hospital.**

"Raoul blew my cover," said Christine, handing Joyce the crumpled-up copy of Julie´s wedding program. She pointed to her name printed in 10-point Goudy, sighing. "It´s my maiden name, but it still makes me nervous. I _told _Raoul that I´m Christine _Smith _now!"

"Dayyy," enunciated Joyce tentatively, furrowing her brow as she examined the surname.

"Not quite," said Christine. A lifetime of mangled pronunciations had rendered her insensitive, incapable of wincing when she heard her maiden name butchered. "At least Raoul´s been good about keeping my pregnancy a secret. No one at his firm will know about it until I start showing. They do know I´m separated, though. And they think the circumstances of my separation were…normal."

"I see," said Joyce. She tucked the crumpled-up program into her skirt pocket absently as she looked over her notes. Finally, she looked up, smiled perfunctorily at Christine, and took control of the session with a businesslike air.

"Do you think you could tell me what the final days of your marriage were like? You say a traumatic event motivated you to leave your husband?"

"I said a _murder_ motivated me to _escape _my husband," replied Christine. It was becoming abundantly clear to her that Joyce did not believe everything she was saying. _She thinks I´m a wacko! _On the other hand, who could ever believe any complete description of Erik? His genius, his magnetism, his feats of legerdemain…she herself would never have believed it had she not witnessed all these things, and much more, firsthand. She decided to focus on her own behaviour.

"I tie-dyed everything once he shut me in, you know," said Christine. "Erik went out in the mornings, and I had lots of dye and rubber bands, and I tie-dyed every bit of my clothing that I could. I was going mad with boredom! I was able to read quite a lot, it was true, but there was no contact with the outside world. He´d blocked both Internet and my cellphone.

"Once I had finished dying all _my_ clothes, I had colors left over, so I tie-dyed all of my husband´s shirts."

"You dyed his shirts?"

"The white ones. That left him with the black ones, and I was thinking of going at them with bleach, but I don´t think the effect would have been very attractive. Anyway, I wrote my protest on his shirts, you could say."

Joyce stifled a smile. "How did your husband react?"

"With silence. He looked at his shirts, then he looked at me for a minute, and that was it! I was hoping for _something_ – anger, whatever. We were hardly speaking."

"I see. I wonder why you turned your frustration onto his wardrobe?" Joyce asked.

"You have to understand that he has a very expensive, well-tailored wardrobe. He´s an elegant man. For some reason, though, he doesn´t like colors. He prefers to dress in black suits. His shirts are either solid white or black, and they´re custom made, too. His instructions to his tailor must be very specific," Christine mused. "I once discovered a hidden pocket in one of his suits, and I wonder how many more there must be."

She looked up at Joyce, who was staring at her, frowning.

"Well, anyway," Christine continued, "Things were tense between us, generally, but I was hoping and praying to talk with Erik, really talk with him, and end the situation. But it ended in quite a different way from what I´d hoped."

"With Jack´s death, you said."

Christine closed her eyes, inhaling. "Yeah, that´s right."

"Do you wish to tell me about it?"

"No, but I will, anyway. I haven´t told anyone, not even Raoul, and I _need_ to tell someone…

"Okay. The tension between us was pretty thick. I began to think about escaping, but not really seriously – I was just imagining how I might do it. It would have been impossible if it hadn´t been for Nadir."

"Nadir?"

"Yeah, Nadir – he´s some shady cohort of Erik´s from a long way back, and he visited sometimes. He´s a private detective now, and he helps Erik out with…things I think I don´t want to know about. He never liked me at all – he thought I was an airhead. That was good, you know – it gave me an advantage. I let him think I was stupid. So, I was always listening to his conversations with Erik, even when he didn´t think so, and I was always watching what he did out of the corner of my eye. He never suspected it.

"That´s how I found out the numeric code to punch in so I could get out through the back. There was something else I noticed, too. Erik was worried that I might just escape, and Nadir was obviously in charge of tracking me if and when I did. Trying to figure out what Nadir was up to was like a game, really, and I admit I was bored. Until one night, when everything came together seriously.

"Did I tell you that Erik kept a lab in his house? I know, another hard-to-believe thing about him. He always kept it closed and locked.

"One night I woke up at about four a.m. to find Erik gone from our bed. His habit was never to leave our bed at night – never, even though he hardly ever slept. If I ever awakened in the middle of the night, he would be there, watching me – don´t ask me why. But not this time. This time, his side of the bed was empty. Something about the entire house seemed empty, and I got out of bed and went into the hallway, looking for Erik. The door to the lab was ajar, and there was light streaming out of it. I went in, and that´s where I saw Jack´s body."

Christine´s voice had lowered to a raspy whisper, and her face was flushed with her effort to keep tears at bay.

"He was lying on a stainless-steel counter in the middle of the room, shrouded with a sheet. When I pulled up the sheet…! The book he had given me was lying on the floor as if someone had thrown it there…" She shuddered and was silent.

"You don´t have to tell me any more if you don´t want to," said Joyce quietly, seeing that Christine had begun to tremble.

"No, no! Let me tell you….let me. There was _no blood_. The lab was spotless, and Jack´s body had bruising at the neck, but nothing more that told me anything about how he had met his end. I felt cold, Joyce, very cold, and for some reason I began to think very clearly. I was careful to leave the sheet exactly as I had found it. I left the room as quietly as I could, and I went to the bathroom, found a sedative in the medicine cabinet, and I took some. That way, Erik wouldn´t know…he wouldn´t find me awake, and all cold and grieving, and I would have time – the time I needed to collect myself and behave as if I didn´t know about Jack.

"I awakened in the morning to find Erik in bed with me. He behaved as though nothing had happened, as I suspected he would, and he watched me carefully. I was lucky that the sedative´s effects were still upon me, and I acted dull and sleepy.

"I spent the next several days planning carefully. I went through the charade of everyday prison life with Erik, and he seemed busy and distracted. I don´t know whatever became of Jack´s body. For all I know, he still has it in the lab! Nadir visited once, and he and Erik spoke in hushed voices.

"Erik continued to go to the university in the mornings, so one morning, I made my move. I was packed and out of the house in a question of twenty minutes. It wasn´t difficult to figure out how Nadir was tracking me, and I discarded my cell – it was useless, anyway – and my suitcase."

Joyce was silent for a moment, and she contemplated Christine with sympathy and a touch of scepticism. She decided to forge ahead, however.

"And now three months have passed, Christine. It would appear that you´ve escaped your husband. Do you think he´s looking for you?"

"He won´t stop until he finds me!" Christine exclaimed, and she lifted her hands slightly, palms facing up, in an unconscious gesture of supplication. _Please believe me!_

Joyce noticed the gesture and reached forward to put a comforting hand on Christine´s arm. "Don´t worry, dear! You have a life here, and you need to think about your plans for the future now. But you have to work through your feelings, too. If your husband was such a monster, you must bless your stars every day that you´re away from him!"

Christine snorted bitterly. "Actually, you want to know the truth? I miss him."

"You miss him?"

Christine pulled her purse into her lap and rummaged around. She pulled out a tie-dyed handkerchief, stared at it for a second, then continued to look until she found some Kleenex. She dabbed at her eyes.

"The truth. I miss my husband every single day, and every single hour of the day. It takes everything I´ve got not to call him, Joyce. It takes every ounce of strength not to give in."

She looked at the tie-dyed handkerchief again. "Here," she said, with a touch of bitterness, and, spotting Joyce´s purse, quickly crossed the room to tie it around the base of the strap. "Consider it a gift. I don´t want it anymore!"

"Um, it´s lovely, dear. But let´s back up. You say you still have feelings for your husband?"

Christine was silent for a moment, and she stared at her hands.

"I love him, Joyce. It´s crazy, knowing you´re in love with a murderer, knowing you shouldn´t love him, trying to get over it. But I do, Joyce. Heaven help me – I do."

* * *

_Raoul De Chagny. _

Nadir looked at the name scrawled on a scrap of paper and touched it as though it were a talisman. Perhaps it was. It was the one clue which might save him from disaster – perhaps it would save him from Erik´s wrath. _Perhaps not. _

Last night had been a debacle. Erik had made the fateful call; he was on his way, but he wanted him to locate a man named Raoul De Chagny. Where was Christine now, he wondered?

Nadir´s mouth had gone dry, and he had gone into a cold sweat. He had trotted out a quick lie of the type he was accustomed to giving Erik – she had been in her apartment all day and had only left to get groceries, he told him. There had been a silence. Something in Nadir´s tone had alerted Erik to the lie.

"Tell me, then," he had asked Nadir, "Does she pause before she leaves her apartment building or does she go directly about her errands?"

"Sometimes she pauses, and sometimes she doesn´t," he had replied, panicked, and there had been another silence.

"I shall join you in a question of hours," he had said, his tone metallic and neutral, and he had hung up.

Now Nadir parked in front of a hospital, happy to find a space, and consulted his map. The law firm of De Chagny and Lunden was located a few blocks away from here – an easy walk.

"You can´t park there," said someone, and Nadir turned to see a policeman approaching. He was pulling out a notepad. _Oh, no! A cop! _Nadir scanned the area and finally located the sign that designated a tow-away zone.

"I´m sorry, officer," he said. "I should have known that finding a space _here_ was being too easy!" He attempted a smile, cursed his slightly-accented English, and hoped against hope that this cop wasn´t the kind that loathed foreigners.

The policeman did not return his smile, and Nadir´s heart sank.

"You´re not _from_ here, are you?" observed the officer as he examined Nadir balefully, his notepad and pen at the ready.

"I…" began Nadir, and then, glancing quickly beyond the cop´s shoulder, he _saw something. _A woman walked down the sidewalk across the street from them. She had just emerged from the hospital complex, and there was nothing extraordinary about her except the _tie-dyed kerchief _tied around her purse strap. He started forward, but he had forgotten about the policeman.

"Hey, now…just where you goin'?" asked the officer, his hand on Nadir´s shoulder.

"Oh, excuse me," said Nadir impatiently. "You want to give me a court date? I think there will be no court date, right? I …I will take care of it right now!" His hand slid into his suit pocket, and he proffered a $100 bill to the policeman hastily, but with practiced subtlety. No one could possibly have noticed the movement, or seen the officer´s hand as he quietly accepted the bill.

"Well…you´ll just be more careful next time!" Nadir heard the officer say as he crossed the street. The woman with the salt-and-pepper hair was gone now, and he cursed as he picked up a paper that had dropped out of her pocket. He would have to chase her down on the pretext of returning it to her, then. He glanced at it irritably and then froze.

* * *

"Work getting to be too much for you?" sneered Angela as she entered Christine´s cubicle with yet another pile of paperwork.

Christine had been massaging her temples, hoping to alleviate her headache without taking a painkiller. Her pregnancy had made her nervous about taking medication of any kind, no matter how benign. She returned to her keyboard now without even glancing at Angela.

"I suppose a world-famous soprano like _you _doesn´t feel she should have to work at all," Angela persisted bitterly, and Christine let her hands drop to her sides, sighed, and looked up at her tormentor.

"Look, Angela, I had nothing to do with it. If Raoul decided that, in the end, I should be the one to sing at Julie´s wedding, then it was his decision. I had _nothing _to do with it, okay?" She decided not to mention Julie´s horror at the idea of Angela´s singing at her wedding – she was in enough trouble as things were.

From out in the hallway, Christine heard her name murmured in the constant hum of voices, the white noise that she usually blocked out as she worked. The voices were approaching her cubicle, and she tensed. _Something´s wrong! _She ducked under the desk so quickly that she did not have time to observe Angela´s astonishment at her strange behaviour.

"Oh, hi, Angela. Look, this fella´s looking for a _Christine Day, _he says. I´ve told him we have ourselves a nice little Christine, but not the one he´s looking for.." The voice belonged George Carmichael, a jovial attorney who specialized in divorce litigation.

"I think that there may be somehow a mistake. The woman I look for is brunette, very pretty, blue eyes, you know? You say your Christine looks like that?"

Christine waited, her heart in her throat. _Nadir! _She closed her eyes, waiting for Angela to give her away.

"Well, that describes a lot of women, sir," came Angela´s voice. "The Christine we have working here is not named Day, and never has been – her maiden name was Jordan, wasn´t it George?"

Christine opened her eyes, amazed, and began to breathe.

"That´s right," assented George vaguely. "Jordan. Sure. I´m sorry we can´t help you there…" the voices turned to murmurs as George escorted Nadir into the hallway.

Eternal minutes passed.

"The coast is clear, Christine," said Angela.

Christine emerged. Angela was leaning against her desk, a triumphant smirk on her face.

"So," she said, "Diving under the desk again? It seems that we´re in some kind of trouble, aren´t we? I suppose that _that _was your ex-husband? Really, Christine, you should know better than to get involved with that kind of a man."

Christine stared at Angela miserably. Instead of disabusing her of the notion that Nadir was her husband, she waited. The woman would want something in exchange for her protection. She did not have to wait long.

"You know what I would _really like, _Christine?"

A silent shake of the head; Christine continued to watch her, waiting.

"I think I´d really like to…let´s see…_sing at Julie´s wedding._ And I think I will, if you don´t appear, don´t you? Wouldn´t you say I´m better qualified to sing than you are?"

Angela had never heard her sing; nevertheless, Christine nodded, unable to believe her good luck. A sudden vision of Erik assaulted her – he turned toward her, pride in his eyes after a particularly successful rendition of Schumann´s _Frauenliebe und Leben, _the fruit of long hours´ work together; he nearly embraced her. Christine pushed the memory away.

"I´m sure you´ll be impressive," she said, and Angela beamed.

* * *

Christine went home early, pleading illness. The trailer park where she lived felt like a refuge. Who would think to look for the erstwhile rich girl in such a setting? She had congratulated herself on the wisdom of her choice. Her neighbors were either retirees or busy working-class people, and they were kind without being intrusive.

She entered her rented mobile home with a degree of trepidation, however. The furnace had stopped working for some reason, and the trailer had been freezing cold for the past several days.

Yet the home she now walked into was warm. She closed the door slowly, puzzled, and she went to look at the furnace. It was working. She tried the taps. The hot water, which had only been tepid at best, was now hot. _The landlord must have been by. _

She sat on the sofa and turned the TV on, but she let it drone on as her thoughts wandered. _So, Nadir is in town and looking for me. He´ll be reporting to Erik. _

She nearly smiled as she remembered how Angela had thwarted Nadir. The situation between Angela and herself was not so amusing, however. _The woman´s going to make a complete slave of me now that she has something on me. _

The temptation to return to Erik, to simply surrender, was stronger than ever. She went to look at the image from her latest ultrasound scan for perhaps the thousandth time. Strange; she always kept it carefully atop a side table, but it had fallen to the floor. She picked it up, dusted it off, and examined it once more, careful to put it back on its table afterwards. _This still doesn´t seem real._

On impulse, she went to the bedroom and retrieved her wedding band from the top drawer of her bedside table. She fingered the platinum band, and read the familiar inscription engraved within: _Te volam per omne aevum. _"What does it mean?" she had asked Erik on their wedding day. "It is a pledge," he had answered, and he had refused to expound on it further.

She lay on the bed, the ring in her hand, and sleep stole her away.

* * *

Nadir returned to his hotel room that evening exhausted, but hopeful. He clutched the wedding program in his hand as he flipped the light-switch on. He waited; complete darkness. The light was either broken, or…something else had happened. The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end.

"I really should kill you, you know," Erik said conversationally.

Nadir could see the faint glow of his yellow eyes now. His first impulse was to flee, but he knew better than to do _that._

"Erik! I knew you would come," Nadir started. The eyes seemed to float towards him, and he stood his ground with difficulty. The air around him seemed suddenly cold, and there was a metallic smell to it. Perhaps he was imagining the smell of his own blood.

"You have been lying to me, Nadir. You, of all people, know how dearly I value the truth," Erik continued. "Did you think that you were tracking Christine because I simply wished you to observe her?"

Nadir was silent. He did not know _why _Erik had tracked her if it was not for the express purpose of continued control over her. She was _his, _after all.

"You were wanting to keep her under…under control," Nadir ventured, failing to keep the panic out of his voice.

Erik´s laugh was unpleasant, in spite of the beauty of his voice.

"You underestimate me, Nadir! But then," and his voice dropped to a barely-audible, conspiratorial level, "I am not the first person you have ever underestimated, is it not so? Did I not warn you? No, Nadir. I think I made it clear that I wanted Christine _kept safe_, and that I expected you to report to me regarding all that might be happening during her time away from me."

"But she´s fine, Erik, she´s just…"

"Just…_what, _you fool? Do you have any idea what…what the state of her health has been? Had I known before, I would have resolved this situation in a question of days, if not hours. Do you have any idea of the conditions in which she is now living? You fool! Give me one reason why I should not dispatch you to the gates of Hell this very minute!"

Erik´s voice had gone gradually and gracefully from muted outrage to a leonine roar. Even in Nadir´s panicked state, he appreciated the wonder of it, and the distraction actually aided him in marshalling his thoughts.

"There is to be a marriage performed. Saturday!" he rasped, thrusting the now-limp wedding program in Erik´s direction.

Suddenly, lamplight illuminated the hotel room and revealed Erik, tall, gaunt, and elegantly black-clad. As he perused the wedding program, his scowl deepened. He seated himself in an armchair, his long legs stretched out before him as he dropped the program onto a table, seemingly lost in thought. Finally, he spoke.

"We shall attend this wedding together, you and I. I may have use for you yet."


	4. Chapter 4

**Another long chapter. Hope it´s not too long! **

**Blessings on all those who have read and reviewed!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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_Smoke filled Christine´s lungs, searing them, as she searched for a way out. Where was she? Whatever building this was, it was burning now, and the heat was unbearable. She was in a long hallway, and flames __seemed to be consuming the floor beneath her. She ran, quickly, but the floor gave in under her, and she fell, amid a shower of rubble, to the inferno raging on the floor beneath. There was a whoosh of air, and flames towered and danced on either side of her. _

"_Papa!" she called,__ from on her knees in the rubble, knowing that he could not respond, ever. She searched her mind._

"_Raoul!" _

_He came, and he had brought a glass of water. She watched, hope beating in her heart, as Raoul tried to douse a thirty-foot tower of flame with half a pint of water. There was the barest hint of steam, and then nothing. He stared at her unhappily from the other side of the flames, sometimes obscured, sometimes visible, as the fire danced and roared. _

_Christine closed her eyes. "Erik!" _

_The smoke in front of her dissipated somewhat, and Erik was revealed; he stood at the top of a tall stairway, surveying the disaster before him with regal disapproval. Christine was possessed by an irrational urge to apologize to Erik, to tell him that she really hadn´t meant for this to happen, that she would never do it again – and would he please…? Before she could speak, however, he addressed the flames as a symphony conductor would address an orchestra – with a sweeping gesture of his arms, he silenced their tongues. For a second his arms hovered, waiting, and his raptor gaze swept the landscape, daring the elements to rebel against his will. _

_There was a sudden whiteness – no trace of flames, nor of smoke, nor of Raoul. Erik stood before her, offering her a glass of water._

As she emerged steadily into wakefulness, Christine could hear Joyce clearly: "The person you´ve described is superhuman…"

_Perhaps I _am_ crazy. _

She stretched, and found that she had fallen asleep in her clothes. She was comfortable, nonetheless, as she lay beneath a blanket which she had evidently pulled over herself sometime during the night. The alarm rang, and as she silenced it, her wedding ring clicked against its plastic surface. She looked at her hand, surprised, and removed the ring quickly, secreting it into its customary drawer.

As she stepped out onto her wooden porch, ready to leave for work, she clutched the medal of the Virgin at her neck, closed her eyes, and mouthed a quick prayer.

"Yeah, traffic´s real scary at this time of day," came a cheerful voice, and she saw her neighbour, Sarah, as she headed out to her car with a steaming coffee mug.

Christine beamed. Three years with Erik had left her with such a great appreciation for human contact of any kind that her overly enthusiastic responses often confused her interlocutors.

"Hey, Sarah! Headed for work?" Stupid question. Anything for the simple pleasure of conversing with someone at this hour of the morning.

"Gotta pay the bills," said Sarah, and she stopped and looked at Christine curiously as she put her mug on the roof of her Focus. "Were you really praying there?"

"It´s just a ritual of mine. Every time I leave the house in the morning, I stop outside the door to say a prayer for those I love – and for myself, of course!"

"What – you don´t love yourself?" Sarah asked, then smiled ruefully. "Well, remember _me_ in your prayers. End of the month´s looking kind of bad right now."

* * *

De Chagny and Lunden hummed with its staff´s collective anticipation of the coming weekend. In addition to Julie´s wedding on Saturday, there was to be a charity event on Sunday at the convention center, and firm employees who were not volunteering for it were relentlessly _encouraged_ to volunteer for it.

Angela was so satisfied with her upcoming role as a soloist that she was, for the first time in her career, easy to deal with. People who normally cringed in her presence were now treated to a sunny side of her disposition which she had formerly reserved exclusively for Raoul. "She´s frightening me," Julie commented under her breath to Christine.

Although she appreciated the lighter workload which was a side-effect of Angela´s happiness, guilt nearly consumed Christine every time she came near Julie. _Poor Julie! Her wedding! _The temptation to defy Angela was strong. She was convinced that Nadir had given up and moved on in his search for her by now – _but Angela has his card and his phone number. _

She had met with the organist once, and they had read through "Pie Jesu" together. He had been so impressed by her performance that he had peppered her with shocked questions; _who are you? _had been first and foremost among them, and it had alarmed her.

She approached Angela on Friday, actually _approached _her, for the first time ever, in her office.

"Angela? About that solo…"

"Oh, hello, Christine, how´s it hanging?" responded Angela with startling cheerfulness. She was busy sorting through something in a large bag.

"Um…fine, really. Look, about that solo tomorrow? I have the sheet music for you here."

Angela extended her left hand and accepted the music absently, while her right hand and her entire attention continued focused on the contents of the bag.

"As you can see, the organist will give you a five-bar introduction. You´ll be coming in on the sixth bar at the –"

"Tell me something I don´t already know, Christine," she murmured, and let the sheet music fall onto the sloppy pile of papers on her desk.

"The organist says—"

"Look, Christine, I´m kinda busy now, okay? Look, you might as well see the kee-_yute _costume I´ve got for Raoul!"

Angela fished through the bag and pulled out some red leotards, a blue cape, and a blue spandex shirt with "ML" emblazoned across the chest in phosphorescent yellow. She held the shirt out proudly for Christine to see. "Whaddaya think, girlfriend?"

Christine tried not to wince at the attempt at false intimacy, and she managed to look composed as she looked at the shirt.

"What…what is _that _for?" she finally ventured, looking cautiously at Angela.

"For Raoul´s volunteer work on Sunday at the big MD benefit, you twit! He´ll be working the Kiddy Korner, you know, so he has to go in costume. And I didn´t want him to be a clown, like half the people who are working here are gonna be."

"Okay, but what´s the 'ML' stand for?"

"That´s the best part of all! He´s going to be a new action hero – 'Major Liberty'!"

"_Major Liberty? _Who d'you want to kill him, the kids or their parents?"

"Look, Christine…" started Angela, truly irritated now, but they were interrupted by Raoul. He rapped his knuckles on the doorway and leaned in, smiling.

"Hey, ladies! Look, Angela, can I borrow you for a minute? I need to know about the number of favors we´re going to hand out to the kids…"

Angela smiled warmly and glided out the door with him, leaving Christine staring at the sheet music and shaking her head.

* * *

_Saturday morning. Brightly dawns the wedding day, _thought Christine as she sat in her bathrobe, a warm cup of herbal tea in her hands. She eschewed caffeine now, for the baby´s sake. She placed an unconscious hand on her abdomen, feeling the slight curve there. It could not be said that she was actually "showing" yet, but she had noticed the gradual change in her body. No nausea anymore, and none of the chronic tiredness of her first trimester – her body was no longer at war with a stranger, but in perfect symbiosis with her child.

She sighed. Julie´s wedding would take place at noon, and she planned to stay home. _Forgive me, Julie!_

_

* * *

  
_

Julie´s wedding was beautiful in all the conventional ways. Her bridesmaids wore rigorous pastel-pink taffeta, which suited each one of them badly, and they realized it, so that in their less guarded moments, they were often caught scowling sullenly. This had the effect of making the bride look radiant by comparison, if she failed to look radiant on her own. Julie´s wedding gown revealed her stylishly-tanned shoulders and a titillating amount of cleavage. Her makeup had been professionally applied to artful excess, and her hair had been shellacked into soft-looking waves.

As she prepared for the procession, Julie smiled broadly, but her mind was elsewhere. _$2000 dollars for flowers and they couldn´t get the kind I wanted…I said PINK, not YELLOW!...$2500 for the photographer, so he´d BETTER be good…at least the singer´s cheap…and WHY are my bridesmaids SCOWLING…? _

The wedding march began.

Nadir sat near the back, completely uncomfortable in these circumstances and in this setting. A shadow slipped in beside him, unnoticed by anyone.

"She is not here," the beautiful voice said, devoid of emotion, and Nadir finally dared to look at Erik.

_YOU__ will know where she is! You have only been her shadow for the past two days! _Yet Nadir controlled himself, and did not speak his thoughts.

The bride and the groom exchanged rings, and the organist began the introduction to "Pie Jesu." Nadir shifted uncomfortably in the pew, glancing nervously at Erik from the corner of his eye.

"Pi-ay Yay-su…!" Angela, hidden behind a screen near the altar, had come in early and was now proceeding to caterwaul.

Erik´s yellow eyes narrowed, and he stared at his wife´s name on the program. A slight ripple went through the congregation. Julie´s smile was frozen on her face, though her eyes told a different story.

Angela continued her novel interpretation of the music. She knew one dynamic: fortissimo, and she had added several grace notes to give the piece a soul treatment. The organist was sweating visibly as he tried to adapt to her odd tempos, and the congregation was now beginning to giggle.

"This is the usual…?" Nadir whispered, finally, turning to Erik. Erik was gone.

"Pi-ay…" Angela continued, but her voice stopped abruptly. The organist, nonplussed, continued. The silence behind the screen went on for several seconds more, and then the singer´s voice was heard once more: "…JESUS!"

Complete silence reigned in the church now. All eyes were on the screen, as if by staring at it one could tell what might be going on behind it, and then the minister cleared his throat and continued with the service.

* * *

"What happened to you?"

Raoul´s voice. Christine held the telephone away from her ear slightly and turned the volume down.

"I´m sorry, Raoul…I wasn´t feeling very well, so I didn´t go, and Angela offered…Angela offered—"

"There´s more to it than that, isn´t there, Christine?" asked Raoul.

There was a pause, during which Christine blushed her shame. Finally, she dared to speak. "What happened, Raoul?"

"She…well, you could say she _sang_ at the wedding, but you know about her singing by now. Then she stopped before the end of the song. The wedding ended, and she'd just vanished! I looked for her all over the place, then I looked for her at the reception. There was no sign of her. Then, just as things were winding down, my cell rings and it´s Angela. She was in the _municipal jail!"_

"Jail? She was in _jail?"_

"Nobody knows how she got there. She didn´t remember a thing – she only remembered starting to sing at the wedding. She woke up in a jail cell with no memory of how she got there!"

"Well, she must have been arrested somehow!" Christine took the phone with her to the sofa – she felt a sudden need to lie down.

"There was no record of any arrest, so they let her go. Nobody could figure out how she got there. I picked her up and took her home, but on the way home…" He hesitated.

"What, Raoul? What happened?"

"She told me that you consented to let her sing at the wedding because she had blackmailed you."

"She told you…?"

"Is it the truth, Christine?"

Christine hesitated. What kind of a trap was this? Finally, her faith in Raoul won out.

"Yes, Raoul. But, why? Why did she tell you? Wait…has she called Nadir?" She suddenly felt very cold, and she began to tremble.

"No, no…I´m sure she hasn´t. She told me about that. She told me about a lot of other things, too. You could say she´s not exactly herself right now."

"Other things? What´s she been telling you?"

"The truth. About everything and anything."

* * *

The next morning, Christine met Raoul at the office. She ventured a peek inside one of the boxes of favors the firm had prepared for distribution at the charity event.

Half of the boxes were filled with sugar-free chocolate bars, and the other half with packs of playing cards. They were packaged in royal blue cardboard, with "Help Us Beat the Odds!" emblazoned in yellow, along with a logo and information on the local MD Association.

"Thanks for helping me out with these," said Raoul, and he grunted as he picked up a stack of three boxes, leaving only one box for Christine to carry.

"Well, it looks like I´m not much help," she replied, "and you´re going to put your back out, Major Liberty!"

Raoul grimaced and looked down at his red-booted feet. "Please don´t remind me of what I´m being forced to wear right now! I just want to get through this day."

"I´m surprised that Angela isn´t here," murmured Christine, daring to approach the subject for the first time that morning.

He snorted. "I´d rather not talk about her."

They went down to his car and loaded the boxes in pensive silence.

It took them a long time to find a parking space in the convention center´s underground parking garage, and they found themselves far from the nearest elevator.

"I think we´d better make two trips, okay?" said Christine, lifting a box.

Raoul grudgingly consented, and they went to the elevator and waited, each bearing a box.

"Why´s it stuck on the second floor?" Christine wondered, and put her box on the floor. Raoul did the same. They waited.

"I knew she was pretending to be nice, you know," said Raoul, finally.

Christine looked at him in silent sympathy.

"Yesterday, for some reason, she opened up and told me everything. She never loved me, you know. She doesn´t even really like me!"

"I´m sorry, Raoul. I really am," said Christine, and she was. He had not changed in years, and she felt a surge of tender affection for him – for his clear-eyed integrity, for his constant kindness, and for his unfailing friendship. "Why is it that great guys like you end up with women they don´t deserve?" she added as an afterthought.

"Why is it a great lady like you ended up with a man she didn´t deserve?" countered Raoul, and he gave her a look which had a speculative quality to it that made Christine nervous.

A current of chilly air entered from the stairwell and whooshed about their ankles.

The elevator finally descended; its doors opened to disgorge a large group of children in boisterous spirits. They paused to roll their eyes at Raoul´s costume, then clambered up the stairwell, where their laughter and derision bounced and echoed off the walls.

They rode the elevator in silence, then delivered their load to the crowded floor above, which was roaring with activity. They descended the stairs to the garage to collect the remaining two boxes. As they approached Raoul´s car, his steps slowed, and he exclaimed his outrage.

"Well, look at the way that asshole´s parked!"

Christine looked. A large SUV was parked behind Raoul´s Mercedes, perpendicular to it, effectively hemming it in. There were also cars parked on either side of Raoul´s, and as Christine surveyed them, the hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end. _Something´s wrong. _She was silent, however, and managed to calm herself – it was ridiculous to be paranoid, she reasoned.

Raoul groused under his breath as he retrieved the boxes. He dropped them on the pavement and approached the SUV, circling it and peering inside for any evidence of who its owner might be.

"He´s probably just running a quick errand and planning to leave quickly," argued Christine. "We´re going to be here for hours, so it really doesn´t matter."

"Yeah, I guess you´re right. It´s annoying, though," he said, offering Christine his charmingly crooked smile. She smiled back, nearly laughing, and he approached her and wiped a smudge off her cheek with the edge of his cape.

"She didn´t like you, either, you know," he said. His eyes were a startling blue, even in the dimly-lit parking garage.

"Oh, she _hated _me!" concurred Christine, smiling.

Raoul did not smile back. "She said that she thought I had feelings for you. I mean, that I still have feelings for you. She felt threatened by you."

"Well, _that´s_ stupid!" said Christine, trying to laugh. A feeling of cold, clammy alarm was creeping upwards through her body. "Of course, she didn´t know of my…condition. And maybe she thinks I´ll be divorced soon…"

"None of that matters," interrupted Raoul gently. "You´re still the same Christine as ever. Angela was right."

"Raoul…" she started, and a sudden vision emerged in her mind´s eye, unbidden. Raoul as her husband, as the adoptive father of her child, within a long, peaceful panorama of happy years. "…in two months I´ll look like a whale!" she finished, fighting the tears which were now stinging her eyes.

"It doesn´t matter. I´ll give you time, if you want. All the time you need! Tell me, Christine, don´t you have anything in your heart for me now? Because if you don´t, I´ll understand…"

"Of course I care for you. I do _love _you, Raoul, but things are more complicated than you think," Christine said, wincing at her own words.

He closed the space between them to hold her, but they both froze as shadows swirled and eddied, and every light in the garage went out, save the light directly above them.

"What the hell´s going on here…?" began Raoul, but he suddenly clutched at his throat, and his voice seemed to fail him.

"That is _exactly _what I´ve been meaning to ask you, Mr. De Chagny," hissed Erik. His eyes were visible now...now his mask…and, gradually, his dark form entered the light. He was gaunt, thinner than Christine remembered, and his eyes burned with an unpleasant cold fire.

Raoul continued to clutch at his throat, his fingers working desperately at something he seemed to feel there.

"Erik, let him go!" Christine said, finding her voice. She forced her mind to calm itself.

Erik turned his eyes to her, and there was now heat in his gaze, and something dark and frightening.

"Come, Christine," he beckoned, and the pull of his voice would have been irresistible to her, had she had less experience with it. Nonetheless, she found it difficult to look away from him.

She forced her gaze back to Raoul and nearly panicked. He had started to turn blue, and his knees were shaking.

"Oh! _Cool!_" interrupted a juvenile voice. "There´s a bad guy, too!" A group of about five children had approached, but they stopped, uncertain, as they perceived Erik more clearly and a cautionary instinct began to set in. A parent – someone´s father – approached from behind the group. He stretched his arms towards the group, his eyes never leaving Erik´s sinister figure.

Raoul – _Major Liberty – _sank to his knees, defeated but able to breathe now. He coughed and gulped air, his hands still at his neck.

"I´m sorry…I´m really sorry," Christine said, leaning towards him. Erik issued a frustrated snarl, and enveloped her in one fluid movement. He dropped something to the floor, and a curtain of smoke quickly separated the superhero tableau from its confused audience.

The smoke cleared, and the lights in the garage came on, revealing Raoul sitting despondently on the floor, completely alone.

There was a silence. Then one of the children applauded timidly, and the rest of them joined in more enthusiastically.

The father came forward and helped Raoul up, smiling in approval. "That was just fantastic! Was that a rehearsal?" He looked around for any sign of the other two actors in the drama. "So, where are you hiding them?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Greetings, dear readers! I must apologize for not having translated the Latin phrase inscribed on Christine****´s wedding ring. "Te volam per omne aevum" means "I will love/want/desire you for all eternity." The verb is somewhat open to interpretation. **

**My deepest gratitude to all who have reviewed. You rock! **

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

**

* * *

**She fought.

Christine could barely see, pressed as she was against Erik. She could barely breathe for the same reason, and she pushed, kicked and screamed against him. It was to no avail – Erik´s grip was like iron, and her screams were muffled against him. During the entire time, she felt herself in motion, moved along with him at an impossibly rapid pace. Just as her vision was beginning to go grey and she felt herself weakening, Erik loosened his grip, and air filled her lungs.

Even in her desperate state, Christine perceived that Erik was agitated. His demeanor was as cool as ever, but his breathing had been rapid, and she noticed the scent of masculine perspiration mixed with his habitual spicy, musky fragrance. His face came into focus, white with concern; his eyes were wide, almost frightened, as they examined her quickly.

_He doesn´t want to kill me. _The thought was reassuring, and she began to renew her struggle. Erik easily deflected her, and she heard the engine of the SUV as someone started it up. As she concentrated on pushing, scratching, _anything, _she heard the sound of car doors opening, and Nadir´s voice. It was impatient with urgency, nearly hysterical.

"Why don´t you knock the woman out? She slows us. Here – this is not very heavy, but it will work…"

_But _Nadir_ wants to kill me! _Christine panicked, and her fear added urgency to her struggles against Erik. His sudden roar stilled her, although it was clearly not directed at her.

"You _fool, _you vile _beast!" _he snarled. "What the _hell _do you think I am?"

_A murderer, perhaps? _thought Christine, and she pushed against Erik´s chest with all her might, but he was as unyielding as a brick wall.

"Christine. You will sleep now." That irresistible voice, its strength now sheathed in velvet, addressed her softly. Unable to stop herself, she looked up into Erik´s eyes, and she was caught, silenced, and peace invaded her limbs. _Fascinating, enthralling eyes. _She felt like a moth, consumed by her passion for the yellow flame, and her world went from brightness to a gray dreamscape to nothing. Erik´s voice soothed her as she descended.

* * *

Wakefulness was achieved after a struggle, and Christine emerged from her sleep to find herself in her old bedroom in the house she had unaffectionately dubbed "the Bunker." She sat up on the bed, certain that she had awakened long before Erik had planned, and feeling a perverse type of satisfaction at the minor victory.

The door was open, and she could hear the sound of a conversation. Nadir´s voice, in a minor key – he was pleading with someone. Christine could not hear Erik´s voice, and could only guess at what tones _he _was using. She shuddered.

Anger invaded her. Three months away from Erik, and every day had been a major achievement – each day she had resisted the overwhelming urge to return to him, each day she had worked to make a new life for herself and for the life to come. Erik had destroyed what she had built in a question of hours, and why? _What does he need me for? _

She had left him because he had dealt death to someone. Now, from the sound of Nadir´s voice, Erik was quite close to repeating the crime. Christine ignored the tears that had begun to flow and crept down the hallway in stocking feet, searching for the source of the conversation. The door to the lab was ajar for the second time since she had known Erik, and she paused. Nadir´s voice had become frenetic, and there was a scrabbling and shuffling noise.

Christine was now close enough to peek quietly through the door. She could see some of Nadir – he was facing the door, perspiring heavily, and he was whispering something hoarsely – "Please, Erik, a thousand times I wish I had not lost her..." Erik´s back would be facing the wall beside the door, then. She drew a deep breath, touched her medal, and entered the lab quickly, moving so that she stood in front of Nadir, shielding him. In her haste, her feet slid on the floor, and she nearly crashed into him. She looked over at Erik, who stared back at her in shock. He was not wearing his mask.

A sharp intake of breath. Something metallic flicked in his hand briefly and disappeared. Nadir cursed under his breath in Farsi – at least, Christine thought it must have been a curse.

"Don´t hurt him," Christine said, looking into Erik´s eyes and doing her best to ignore the mangled flesh his unmasked state had laid bare. The urgency of the situation helped her to maintain her composure, ironically. She stood stiffly, her arms slightly extended, watching Erik warily.

Erik bent to retrieve his mask from the floor, and by the time he had straightened, it was already affixed to his face. Now recovered from his initial shock, his bearing was regal.

"What would you have me do with him?" he inquired courteously, and his eyes were alive with a type of curiosity – and something else.

"_Do _with him? I think you should let him leave now," said Christine.

"He is dangerous. He knows too much of my affairs, which is bad enough, but he _loathes _you, which is unforgivable," replied Erik. "And he has failed us both."

"Did Jack loathe me, too?" asked Christine. She had hoped to see Erik flustered, but she elicited only a quick, disapproving click of the tongue.

"In his way, perhaps he did. He was prepared to do a great deal of harm to us both." Erik´s voice was maddeningly cool.

"If your wife had not been such a fool --" Nadir growled from behind Christine. He had recovered his nerve.

Erik struck quickly. In an instant, Christine found herself lifted and placed where Erik had been, and Erik had pinned Nadir against the same stainless-steel counter where Jack´s body had once lain. The memory was too fresh for Christine.

"Erik, no!" She started forward.

"Leave the room, Christine," Erik murmured gently.

She resisted an overpowering urge to do as he directed, and she regarded the length of his back, still clad in his elegant black suit-coat, as he leaned over Nadir. She had never dared to touch him uninvited – not once during their marriage – and she was still hesitant to try. She had no leverage – no power over Erik, nothing to dissuade him from his intentions. _Except perhaps…_

"If you harm him, I´ll never lie with you again, Erik," she said quietly.

His back straightened with a quick jerk, and he released Nadir to turn and look at Christine. They had never spoken with each other of their nights together. She had breached their tacit pact now, and she wondered what the consequences would be.

He came to her now, towering over her, and the look in his eyes was indecipherable. She looked down, blushing, and he lifted her chin. She could feel his electricity, and her eyes involuntarily met his. The heat and hunger of his gaze caused her to realize something: _If he yields to this blackmail, I have implicitly agreed to intimacy._

Erik smiled slightly, humourlessly. "Very well. I shall not harm him."

From behind Erik, Nadir glowered his hatred at Christine.

* * *

_Blessed exhaustion! _Meg Guiry sprinted her way up the stairs to her apartment, forcing herself not to slow. A hard afternoon of rehearsals, a fresh blister on her foot, the pain in her thigh and calf muscles…all these were welcome distractions. She had become an expert at using physical pain to relieve her from the agony deep within.

She had chosen to ignore Jack´s interest in Christine, and she had underestimated Christine herself. _So innocent, so wholesome…such a very good friend! _Meg snorted in self-hatred. _How could I have been so trusting? _She wondered where Jack and Christine were now. She had no doubt that they were together, wherever they were.

As she turned into the hallway which led to her apartment, she noticed a woman leaning against the wall. Meg glanced at her rapidly, assessing her – nice clothes, nice hair, perfect makeup, but too heavily applied. She was hiding something – she had applied cover stick liberally to the puffy flesh just beneath her eyes, making it too white. _She´s hiding sadness, or a bad night´s sleep. What´s she doing here? _

Meg could feel the woman´s dark eyes upon her, and as she put her bag down and fished in her purse for her keys, she saw her approach out of the corner of her eye. She turned, and the two women looked at each other for a tense split-second.

"You´re Meg, aren´t you?" the woman asked quietly. Her voice was a husky contralto, and Meg realized that she owed her stylish thinness to cigarettes.

Irritation welled up within Meg. _What now?_

"What do you want?" she asked in flat tones.

"I´m sorry," said the woman, shifting slightly. "You wouldn´t know me. I´m Ashley Jacobs. I´m Jack´s wife."

* * *

"Look, I have Gatorade, iced tea, or water," Meg said, looking through her refrigerator. She decided not to mention the three cans of beer that Jack had left there, and which now served as a permanent reminder of him. She found an ashtray and tossed it on the side table nearest Ashley, who was now sitting on the sofa.

"Oh, hey, thanks," said Ashley, finding a cigarette in her purse. "Some people get really anal-retentive about me smoking in their homes…"

"Yeah, like my mother." Meg grimaced. She did her best to be unlike her mother in as many ways as possible.

"Got a light?"

Meg found a matchbook in one of her drawers and offered it to Ashley, who glanced at it as she accepted it.

" 'The Lamplight Inn,'" she read, frowning, then opened it to light a match. "Did he take you there, too?"

Meg blushed and didn´t answer.

"He took all his girlfriends there, you know. I found that out much later. Hmmph!" -- Ashley snorted bitterly – "He was very good at courting. You could say he didn´t let his marriage interfere with his dating."

Bile rose to Meg´s throat again. "He never _told _me he was married, and I never suspected a thing…"

"It´s all right, honey," said Ashley, who was now wreathed in smoke. "Jack hid it very well. After a while, I was just happy when he finally made it home to me, and I didn´t ask questions. Hell, it took me this long to find out who you were. I´ve been asking around for weeks now.

"Thing that´s strange is he´d always come home before now. Now, he´s been gone for three months, and I´m really worried he´s not going to come back to me."

"I told you – I haven´t seen him for three months," Meg said.

"Yeah. And he never gave you a clue as to where he might´ve been going?"

"Not really. But I have an idea who might have been with him."

* * *

_Home. Whatever _that _is, _thought Nadir to himself as he entered his apartment. A layer of dust had settled on the furniture, lending a finishing touch to the prevailing disorder. His hasty departure three months ago had left drawers which were hanging open, clothing on the floor, and mouldy dishes in the sink.

_Christine. _It was all her fault! Her arrival had spelled the beginning of a long series of humiliations for him.

Why had Erik insisted on marrying _her_, and why had he been so adamant that he treat her, even speak of her, with respect? She was only a woman, after all.

If being outwitted by a woman stung, having been saved by a woman hurt even more, and he was certain that Christine had saved his life. Why? Why had she not left him to die with what was left of his dignity? Not only had she witnessed his humiliation, watching as Erik defeated him with ease, _staring _at his fear of her husband – she had strutted proudly into the conflict and saved him.

So, Erik was like any other man. A genius he was, but he did much of his thinking below the waist. Perhaps he planned to give Christine a good beating tonight, finally. She certainly deserved it. Perhaps he would take her, then kill the adulterous bitch.

She _was _beautiful. Nadir´s thoughts flew involuntarily to how she had looked as she had insisted, tall and proud, on Erik´s sparing him. She knew what to give him in return. _Women! _They had been put on earth to torment men. He had learned that lesson long ago from Salma.

Thoughts of Salma returned to him mockingly. He had met her at Dizin, where they both had been skiing. He had literally bumped into her, and he had spent a discreet but passionate week chasing her around the slopes. He found that she lived in a fashionable neighbourhood in northern Teheran, and he would meet her, quite accidentally, in the coffee shops there during the rainy spring. He had loved her; he had asked for her hand in marriage; he had been refused by her family. Salma had disappeared from his life.

Erik had come to visit Teheran during the bitter night of disappointment which followed. The Ministry of Islamic Guidance had assigned Nadir to be Erik´s guide in the hope that he would keep the visitor out of trouble. The foreigner had been courteous and charming in spite of his forbidding mien, and he had clearly appreciated the local architecture and art. Nadir had relaxed in his presence. One day, after a visit to the mosques at Esfahan, Erik had escaped him. That had been bad enough. A certain Punjabi diplomat who had become very friendly and valuable to the Islamic government had been found, strangled, in a city park two days later. That had been damning.

Nadir had known he was in trouble. He knew instinctively that Erik would be flying back to India – he knew this before the police had time to think or to arrest either of them, and he hurried to the airport, searching desperately for the man who had caused him so much trouble. Erik had found him first.

"You are obstinate, but you have good instincts," he had observed, watching Nadir with dry amusement. "Just what do you think you are going to do with me?" His demeanor was relaxed to the point of indolence, but his eyes were vigilant, curious.

"Take me with you!" Nadir had rasped, surprising even himself. "I have nothing here!"

To his astonishment, Erik had taken him with him. He had been a constant in his life in the years since – terrifying, yes, but a powerful ally.

A new country, a new life. Nadir´s linguistic abilities had yielded him a short stint doing translation work for the intelligence agency, but that had not lasted. He had set out on his own, starting his own detective agency, homesick now for his home country.

He could never return, and he could never escape Erik – especially not now.

Nadir sighed and set about cleaning up his apartment, cursing Christine under his breath as he had once cursed Salma.

* * *

The blue nightgown Christine now wore had always been a favourite of Erik´s, but as she looked in the mirror, she noticed the changes her body had undergone. Her breasts seemed huge, maternal, and the silken fabric of the gown pressed against them now. The curve her growing baby had given her abdomen was very slight as of yet, and only someone who had observed her very closely would notice that subtle change. She gave her long hair one more brushing, finally taming its waves, and glanced at her reflection one last time as she sat at her dressing-table. _This will do, I think. I´ll need every advantage I can get._

There was a slight metallic click as the bedroom door was unlocked, and Erik entered. Christine watched his reflection behind her in the mirror as he closed the door behind himself and looked at her, his back to the door. She looked into his reflected gaze, and, almost against her will, took in his general appearance. He was in shirtsleeves now, as he always was when he came to her at night, and she noticed once again that he had lost weight. She felt a pang; she had cooked for him during their years together and coaxed him to eat regularly – otherwise, he tended to forget to eat. After the first months of her marriage, she had been quietly proud to note that he had gained weight, though he would always be a slender man, with long, muscular limbs. His amber eyes glowed at her from the angular planes of his face, and she could see the shadow of stubble on his cheek and chin, where the mask did not cover it. His black hair was carefully combed back, and curled up slightly where it ended at the nape of his neck.

Wordless minutes went by as they watched each other, each one still, yet poised for the battle which was to come.

Christine rose from her seat and turned to face her husband.

"Why do you want me here, Erik? Is it all about _this_?" she asked, gesturing towards her body with her hands. "Whatever you get from me, you could probably enjoy with someone else even more. In a few months, I will begin to be terribly unattractive, and I think you know why." A hand went briefly to her belly, and she continued. "Why can´t we do things the civilized way and divorce, Erik? I wouldn´t ask for any money at all – not even child support."

Erik´s face had remained inscrutable as Christine spoke, but he covered the distance between them to stand, towering over her as he always did.

"Your hand, please," he said, indicating her left hand.

"I beg your pardon?"

He lifted her hand with one of his, while in his other hand he held her wedding ring up pointedly for her to see. He slid it carefully onto her ring finger.

There was a silence as Erik continued to hold her hand within his.

"That´s it, Erik? Why? You yourself said that ours was nothing more than a marriage of convenience. Why do you want to continue now, as if we were ever close? As if we were ever _anything _to each other…"

"You are bound to me, whatever ideas you might have concerning the nature of our contract," replied Erik icily.

"Our _contract_? Erik, I´m only human, and in the past few years I´ve discovered I need something more than a contract! Why, if you have no feelings for me, won´t you release me so I can …so I can go to someone who _does? _Wouldn't it be best for everyone?"

Something in his eyes told Christine that she was skirting dangerous territory, but she was past caring.

"You know I found Jack´s body where you had left it, Erik. I know you killed him…"

"I am aware of that, and I am aware that you thought he was your friend, in spite of what he intended to do with you."

Christine was dumbstruck. "_Do _with me?"

"Perhaps I owe you an explanation, but I am not inclined to give you any at the moment. You owed it to me to trust me, but you failed in that. You owed a wife´s affection to me, and only to me, yet I discovered you ready to embrace a life with an old lover…"

"He _wasn´t _an old lover! Raoul was –"

"I do not care what he _was_; I know what _you_ were thinking this morning; I knew it as I watched you with him in that parking garage. Auspicious place to commit an infidelity! Come, let me see you," he added, as Christine backed away from him slightly.

Erik seized her by an arm, and his hand travelled down the silk of her gown to the curve of her pregnancy, where it rested contemplatively.

"You would deny me this, Christine?" His hand travelled upward, over the fullness of a breast, and rested on the side of her cheek, his thumb brushing the fullness of her lips. "You would deny me everything?"

Christine kept very still, every nerve in her body on alert. Erik had never touched her that way before, except under the cover of darkness. There was a light in his eyes which she had only glimpsed before, but which now shone fully upon her.

"No, Christine," he murmured, and she could hear the steel beneath the velvet of his beautiful voice. "No, I do not release you, and I shall not."

_No! _ She could feel herself succumbing to him, her wits abandoning her, and he abruptly picked her up and carried her to the bed. The lights went out, and she felt his hands, gentle but urgent in the silent darkness.

"Erik, please…" but there was no answer. He had always been silent in the tender darkness they had shared each night; tonight was no exception as he prepared her for what was to come next.

Her flesh yielded to his as it always had, yet something in Christine´s mind refused to succumb to him.

_Somehow, I will escape. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Once again, my deepest gratitude to those who have so kindly reviewed. ****Yours are the words which comfort and guide me in my moments of creative doubt, which are many. **

**I do not own POTO, or its characters. **

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Christine kept her eyes closed for as long as she could, even as she awakened. She could feel Erik´s presence beside her in bed, and she knew he was watching her. She wanted her privacy.

She felt his fingers tracing her face gently, then running through her hair. _He knows I´m awake._

How quickly they had fallen into old habits, and how very much she had missed him!

_Pang._

_He´s a murderer. _Christine closed her eyes more tightly now.

Erik´s other hand rested on her belly, languidly investigating its new, slight fullness.

_Pang._

_I´m carrying his child. _

She opened her eyes. In the quiet morning light, Erik´s eyes glowed with a muted flame, and Christine´s heart sank as she noticed he was wearing his mask. Had her tacit acceptance of his face yesterday meant nothing?

"You don´t have to wear that, you know," she said, almost irritably. Countless nights of feeling the rough, mangled skin of his face upon hers, and now she had merely learned what it looked like. How many times had he gazed upon her in the nude, with that preternaturally nocturnal vision? She thought of Joyce, now hundreds of miles away, and how incredulous the counselor would be if she were to tell her, "_…And he can see in the dark, too!" _

He looked upon her, and his eyes were warm; he seemed to revel in her acceptance. "Perhaps another time," he said simply, and he made no move to remove his mask. What had happened between them yesterday remained unspoken, unacknowledged, but so very real that it was nearly palpable.

Was this morning´s peace a symptom of her surrender? Jack´s lifeless body was another unspoken reality which now hung suspended between them. She must never forget it, and she reminded herself of that now.

"I suppose I´m locked up again?" she asked, turning away from him slightly.

Erik tensed almost imperceptibly, and he propped himself up on an elbow, observing her. The long muscles of his arm moved and became rigid under the flesh of his arm, which was crisscrossed with scars. His shoulders, unusually broad for a slender man and knotty in their musculature, loomed over Christine against the backdrop of the skylight.

"You are free," he murmured, and his hand ran slowly through her hair, then gripped it gently, his fingers enjoying its texture.

"I can come and go as I please?" asked Christine, taken off guard.

"You may come and go. You are safe now. I must add a small caveat, however…"

"A caveat?"

"Should you attempt to leave me again, Mr. De Chagny will pay."

Christine jerked upright in the bed, furious. Erik let go of her hair just in time not to cause her pain, but he was vigilant, his eyes narrowed.

"I am so sick of this, Erik! First Jack, then yesterday you nearly murder Nadir, and now you´re threatening poor Raoul!" Before she could say more, a wave of nausea washed over Christine. Perhaps it had little to do with her pregnancy.

Erik sat up quickly, frowning in concern, and adjusted Christine so that she was lying on her side.

"Christine," he murmured, and his voice was melodious, "now is a bad time indeed for quarrels." He stroked her arm gently, and she felt a sudden sense of calm.

"You never explain anything," she protested feebly, rallying her defenses.

"I would ask that you trust me," said Erik softly, "in spite of whatever false conclusions you may have drawn."

"I saw Jack´s body, you know."

"I know, Christine, and I am sorry for the shock you received. I could never regret his death, however."

"'Regret his death'? You killed him!"

"It was entirely necessary."

The moment of truth. "Why?"

There was a pause, and Erik extended his hand. Something black, about the size of a cigarette lighter, rested in his palm.

Christine dared to prop herself on her elbow, and she examined the item. It was made of black plastic and bore traces of glue, and the word "TrackEver" could be discerned in small Helvetica type.

"A tracking device," she murmured. "What´s that got to do with Jack?"

"The book he gave you, Christine. This vulgar device was hidden in its binding."

"No! Jack would never have done that…never. That´s Nadir´s thing!" said Christine. Something cold gripped at her. _Trust me, _Erik had said. She had trusted Jack -- _Jack, who died because he befriended me!_

"I am sorry," said Erik, "but you will remember that Mr. Jacobs was somewhat curious about the work I was doing."

"He was on your team! He didn´t need to know where you live! He had access to the work you were doing at the research center! If that thing was hidden in the book he gave me, then _he _wasn´t the one who put it in!"

Christine was fighting tears of outrage now, and she felt herself slipping out of control.

"You´re saying he put a tracking device on me," she said. "That´s still no reason to kill him!" She searched her mind wildly, shifting focus, hoping to gain control of the conversation. "And you would kill Raoul, too, just for being my friend!"

"Mr. De Chagny wishes for more than friendship from you, Christine, and you know that perfectly well. However kind he has been to you, his friendship is tainted with his own selfish desires and his execrable lack of respect for other people´s marriages. He knows perfectly well that there is someone else who has prior claim to you, who still wants you, who shall always want you. He is even willing to overlook the fact that in stealing _you, _he would be stealing my hopes for a family!" Erik´s voice had descended to a cold hiss.

"'Hopes for a family'? In case you haven´t noticed, we don´t even have a _marriage_. Why, you hardly ever touch me if we aren´t in bed together, and I never know where you´re going or what you´re doing! But I´m your prisoner, one way or the other. You hardly bother even to _talk _with me!" Christine´s voice shook slightly, but she congratulated herself for not letting the tears that threatened show.

Erik leaned towards her now, and that soft light, which he had kept so carefully hidden, now shone in his eyes. Christine ignored it and jumped up from the bed and away from him, completely oblivious to her nude state. Her foot touched something even softer than the wool rug – the satin of her blue nightgown, which had fallen to the floor the night before.

"Remember, Erik, that this is nothing more than a marriage of _convenience_!" she snapped. "Well, I have needs, as I´m sure you do," she said recklessly. "What should it matter to you if I look to someone who´s not you to fulfil those needs?"

Erik had risen from the bed, too, and every hint of softness had abandoned his demeanor; something dangerous flashed in his eyes. As courageous as Christine felt at the moment, she backed away from him as he approached her. Something which had been coiled at the back of her mind for three months rose up within her to strike.

"What do you care, Erik? In fact, I´m sure a man like you has not been _lonely _these three months I´ve been away! If I´ve been _convenient _for you, especially at night, I´ll bet it´s been easy for you to find someone else equally convenient…"

Jealousy had rendered her childish, but Christine wanted Erik to deliver the pain now, to give her the proof that she needed that she really meant nothing to him, that she never had, and that their marriage was a farce. The nights he had held her had been too special to her; she wanted them shattered, cheapened. She was determined to leave Erik, and she wanted to leave without regrets.

He reached her and held her to him in a vice-like grip. She was crushed against the hard planes of his chest, and she felt the tension in the flat muscles there as she pulled against him. The black silk of his pajama bottoms brushed against her legs, but there was no softness there.

"How _dare_ you!" he roared, looking down at Christine. "How _dare _you! Look at me – look at me, Christine!"

She knew better than to do that; she would lose all hope of self-control that remained if she were to look into his eyes.

His voice became quiet, lethal in its controlled cadences.

"I have done _everything_ for you, and you have never left my thoughts. Do not think for one minute that I will let you paint me as the ignoble boor you wish to see. There has never been anyone but you, and you have _no excuse _for any betrayal you happen to be contemplating."

He loosened his grip on her, and his hands seemed to be checking her carefully, as though he feared she might have been damaged somehow.

"If I have been uncommunicative or a brute – and, mark me, I know that I have – it has been for a reason," Erik continued in a soothing voice. "The reason has now been removed from our lives, and we are free.

"Come now," he said, lifting her chin gently, and Christine finally dared to meet his gaze. "We are to have a child now, you and I. We have very little time left alone together in this life, and I wish to make good use of it."

As Christine revelled in the novelty of Erik´s affectionate embrace, she very nearly forgot all her questions and misgivings.

* * *

**8 am, Tuesday**** morning. Worklife and Family Counseling Services, TriCounty Hospital.**

"Angela Fanning," read Joyce slowly, looking at her new arrival with her practiced smile. "I understand you had a rather difficult weekend."

"Difficult?" snorted Angela. "Try absolute hell!"

She rose, and, spying the candy tray, helped herself to a fistful of hard candy. She put the handful into her purse, then helped herself to one more, which she put into her mouth.

Joyce looked for her digital voice recorder on the shelf. "Usually, I record sessions…with permission, of course…." She continued to look for the missing recorder. "That´s odd. I think it´s gone missing! Well, I´ll just have to take my notes the old-fashioned way," she sighed, taking a notepad and pen from a drawer.

"Raoul thinks I´m a nutcase," said Angela, picking at a fingernail. "He made me come to see you. He also wants to break us up," snorted Angela. "Just because I went a little weird over the weekend."

"You were singing at a wedding," prompted Joyce, leaning over to read from the clipboard on her desk.

"And doing a wonderful job of interpreting _Pie Jesu,"_ recalled Angela, "and after that, I don´t remember what happened. I remember waking up in jail, though, and when Raoul came to get me out, I can recall telling him everything I was thinking. It was weird. I couldn´t stop telling him every last secret thought I had! Total verbal diarrhea! It´s going to take me a while to smooth things over with Raoul, so maybe you can help me think of ways to do that."

Angela strolled around Joyce´s office, and as she did so, she picked things up and examined them as they caught her fancy. Now she was looking at the photo of Joyce´s grandbaby. She snorted and put it down, then turned towards Joyce again.

"What´s really awful about this is that I keep having this nightmare. There´s this man wearing a mask – kind of creepy and big, you know? And he has eyes that are like, totally incandescent, you know? Well, he´s screaming something at me about Christine and my singing!"

Joyce stood frozen to the spot, her pen poised in her hand. "The man in your dreams is wearing a mask and talking about Christine?"

"Yeah, Christine, a legal secretary who works for me. I think you know _her_ – she´s a basket case, after all."

Joyce was silent. "The man in your dreams is wearing a mask?"

"Well, a half-mask, actually. And he´s screaming something about music and years and years of hours and hours of practice and sacrifice, and that I shouldn´t ever presume to sing again – he actually says the word 'presume,' you know? And then the dream goes away."

"Ah-_hah,"_ said Joyce, fishing around in her drawer for a bottle of aspirin.

"You know," said Angela, frowning, "I haven´t been able to sing a note ever since this started. Do you think you can help me recover my voice?"

"I honestly don´t know. I don´t know a thing," sighed Joyce, as she poured herself a glass of water and swallowed her aspirin.

* * *

"I can´t believe I´m doing this," said Meg as she stood outside her mother´s apartment door.

"Wow, you really don´t get along with your mom, do you?" commented Ashley. "It´s that much of a drag just to visit her?"

"You have no idea. Do you know I became a dancer just to rebel against her? Well, I admit I love it, too, but she was a dancer herself, you know – still teaches it, but she didn´t want that life for me. It still gets to her to see me sweating on the stage. Well…here goes," said Meg, and she rang the doorbell.

* * *

"So you're Jack´s…wife," said Jeanne, wincing slightly, as she served Ashley a soft drink.

"Yeah, she´s Jack´s _wife_, Mom, and you can go ahead and say what you´re thinking," snapped Meg from her perch on the arm of a sofa. It always annoyed her mother when she sat there.

"I can´t imagine what you mean, dear," said Jeanne quietly, and she went to the sideboard to pour some Scotch into her tea. Meg watched her, rolling her eyes.

"Look, Mom, I had no idea Jack had a wife, and I think I told you that he´s gone off with Christine. So, I was thinking that maybe Erik might know something about where they are."

"You want me to contact Erik," said Jeanne under her breath, then continued in a more audible tone. "I would never contact him on a whim, Meg. And I think it´s my duty to tell you that Christine has returned to Erik. She did not, in fact, run off with Jack."

"She´s _back? _Alone?" said Meg. "Where was she? Why did she leave at the same time that Jack disappeared? Why hasn´t she called me?"

Jeanne sighed and drank half the contents of her glass in one long swallow. She remained standing.

"Please, Mrs. Guiry," said Ashley, who been listening to the conversation in attentive silence up until now. "It´s important to me to find out where my husband is. He´s been gone a very long time."

"You want my advice? You´re better off without a weasel like that," said Jeanne, glowering at Meg. It was not clear whether she had directed her comment at Meg or Ashley. The young women exchanged confused glances.

"You´re not going to help, are you?" asked Meg in tones of reproach.

"I´m sorry. I can´t just approach Erik…I can´t really approach him about anything. Anyhow, I´m sure Christine will call you when she´s ready."

* * *

Alone in her apartment, Meg turned on the television and contemplated the screen vacantly – a favourite program was on, but her mind was far away.

She cursed her relationship with her mother – _But it´s all Mom´s fault! _She had moved away from her mother the moment she had been financially able, sick to death of the constant probing, interrogation, and eavesdropping to which her mother had always subjected her. _Things haven´t changed a bit! _ Meg snorted as she thought of her diary, and how she had discovered her mother reading it on her last visit.

The snooping had been bad enough, but her mother had another unfortunate tendency: she was judgmental. Meg´s friends had never been respectable enough, and Jeanne felt free to detail every last flaw that she perceived. Meg had found herself having to defend her friends to her mother constantly, and the effort had been exhausting. When Meg had discovered boys and started dating, the situation had become impossible. Her boyfriends were subjected to her mother´s unrelenting scrutiny and inevitably broke up with her. She never forgot what one boyfriend had said: "With your mom -- well, it´s like being caught behind enemy lines!"

_She must have been so happy to hear about Jack and what a jerk he turned out to be! _Meg had no doubt that her mother felt vindicated.

She pounded the sofa cushion with a resentful fist.

_Well, Mom__ wouldn´t stand close scrutiny herself! _ While her mother had tried to hide it, Meg had sensed that her work for Erik during the years had not been exactly respectable. Still, her mother had needed work after the traffic accident which had left her unable to dance and the subsequent, unending problems with the insurance company.

Erik had entered their lives when Meg was little, and it seemed as though he had always been there. She had only seen him once or twice, but the sight of him – especially _those eyes --_ had frightened her out of her wits, and her mother had had to calm her down after each occasion. _There, now, that was only Erik – I knew his mother, you know. He won´t harm you! _

Erik had certainly kept _Christine_ intimidated.

_Christine. _She wondered if Christine would ever call her. She had made futile calls to Christine´s cellphone for months.

Was it true that she had not left with Jack? _Damn you, Jack! Where are you? No matter what Mom says, this has something to do with Christine. _

Meg opened her laptop, lost in thought, and began a search: _Raoul De Chagny. _

_

* * *

_

Nadir waited impatiently in Erik´s study for him to reappear. He had been called away, as he frequently was, upon receiving a telephone call. He drummed his fingers on the sofa cushion restlessly.

"Would you like something to drink?" It was Christine.

"No," he said shortly, and turned to glare at her. She was as lovely as ever in a navy blue skirt and blouse. Her long hair was loose, and her eyes appeared to be a very dark blue, nearly violet, in the soft light. She seemed to be smiling at him in amusement, and he was provoked into speech.

"Why do you laugh?" he spat.

"I´m sorry, I´m not really laughing. Well, maybe I am. It´s just that you absolutely _hate _me, don´t you?"

Nadir was silent, surprised by her direct approach. No woman had ever had the temerity to speak with him so. No wonder Christine had become involved with Erik! Brazenness such as hers was bound to get a woman into trouble.

"I don´t really blame you, actually," Christine continued, oblivious to Nadir´s reaction. "Plenty of people dislike me. I seem to cause trouble without really intending to," she sighed. "Come on, at least let me serve you a drink. It´s the least I can do after giving you so much trouble tracking me."

"You are a butt-rash," Nadir growled, but he was finding it difficult to glare at her now.

"I know," she agreed amiably, "but it looks as if I´m here for the duration. I know we can´t be friends, but can´t there at least be peace between us?"

She smiled again, and something deep within Nadir stirred. "Very…very well. I would very much like a Coke. Please."

She smiled more radiantly, if possible, and left to fetch his drink. Nadir was left alone in the study, his feelings in disarray.

"Several matters require our attention," came Erik´s steely voice, and Nadir jumped. The man had entered the room with his habitual silence, and this time the detective had been caught off guard. Why couldn´t Erik be like other intellectuals, like other geniuses? They all seemed to be so badly acquainted with their bodies that they could scarcely walk properly. Nadir watched as Erik glided toward his desk with the uncanny, unconscious grace of a dancer.

"There is the question of Mr. Jacobs´ cadaver, which now lies in the county morgue," Erik continued. "My contacts with the police will insist that he was discovered in a city park, that his wallet had been stolen and identification was difficult. They will now be permitted to contact his widow. We will wish to deflect attention from the ensuing police investigation, which shall, of course, prove fruitless. The media must not pursue this matter."

"And your wife? She will say –"

"Whatever she says will hardly be taken seriously. Do not concern yourself with _that. _Something of greater importance to me demands your attention."

Erik paused, and Nadir waited. Christine entered, quietly placed his Coke on a side table, and left the room. Her perfume remained.

Erik´s eyes had followed his wife during the time she was in the room, but Nadir had been careful not to glance at her. He breathed in her perfume and sighed slightly, then looked up at Erik, who was now watching him with an unpleasantly penetrating stare.

"I will need you to keep Raoul De Chagny away from my wife," Erik finally continued, "as I expect that he will waste no time in seeking her out. You are to shadow him, to make sure he has no contact with her. I have seen to it that she will not be calling him; you are to make sure that he does not call or see _her._"

"I am surprised he is still alive," commented Nadir.

"He must remain alive," replied Erik. "I no longer have a stomach for death, and there are…other things to consider."

"I will do my best," ventured Nadir quietly.

"You will," said Erik. "I need not remind you that you once underestimated my wife, and that it very nearly was fatal to you?"

"No," said Nadir, shifting uncomfortably.

"Good. Then we understand each other."


	7. Chapter 7

**Need I tell you how very much I appreciate your reviews? Blessings on all those who have given me such thoughtful feedback. **

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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"Ligature strangulation," the assistant medical examiner pronounced flatly.

Ashley stared at the body which had been taken from the morgue´s freezer. Meg stood beside her, rubbing her back, trying to offer her comfort even as tears ran down her own cheeks. _Oh, Jack! _

"He died quickly, then?"

"Real quick – this was a quick, bloodless job. You see, the carotid artery –"

"Too bad. I wish he´d _suffered_, the pig!" Ashley spat, and Meg jumped at the venom in her voice. The examiner stared at her, blinking in surprise.

Ashley fumbled in her purse, searching for a cigarette. "You say he died three _months _ago?"

"Approximately. He was found in the brambles at Mason Park, and he had no ID, you know…"

"So you´re telling me the body´s been _here _for three months?" Ashley´s words were slightly muffled by the cigarette she now held between her lips. She searched for her lighter in her purse, scowling at Jack´s frozen face.

"Yeah, three months, no ID, and a forensic autopsy was performed. Look, lady, I´m sorry about all this, but you can´t smoke here…"

"Great!" snarled Ashley, and she threw the cigarette to the tiled floor, then seemed to think the better of it, and bent to pick it up.

"He was strangled and his body was brought to the park and dumped there," supplied Meg in a shaky voice.

"He was strangled in the park, robbed, and his body left in the brush," the examiner answered, looking at Meg with evident irritation. "We were finally able to identify his body after his driver´s license was found by a kid at the park a few days ago. I´m sorry it wasn´t sooner."

* * *

_One ring…then two rings…then –_

"Yeah, hello?" Meg´s voice, breathless. She had run to answer the phone.

"Hey, Meg, it´s me," Christine started, happy to hear her friend´s voice after so much time.

There was a pause.

"He lets you call me?"

"Um, yeah, he does. Everything´s fine now, Meg, but –"

"Can you come and see me? I really need to talk with you."

"At your place? Now?"

"As soon as you can."

Erik´s dark form loomed in the doorway suddenly, and his eyes were inscrutable. Christine jumped slightly and looked up at him.

"I shall drive you to her apartment," he said quietly but firmly.

"I could drive, myself, you know," said Christine. "I _do_ have a driver´s license. You might even approve of my driving. It´s not bad, you know…"

Erik glanced at her briefly as he turned onto the highway. "I shall take you wherever you wish…within reasonable limits."

"You said I was free to come and go."

"That does not relieve me of my responsibility to take care of you," Erik responded softly.

"Are you worried about what I´m going to say about finding Jack?"

"Not in the least. Describe everything you´ve seen to your heart´s content – you may even tell people the location of our home. There are certain traps, however, which the uninvited guest should be aware of for his own well-being and continued bodily integrity…"

"The traps…always the traps. I´ve never told anyone where we live. I wouldn´t dare!"

"…Which is why Mr. Jacobs found a tracking device necessary. He had not counted on our little traps, however…"

A sudden coldness invaded Christine. "You´re telling me he came to our house before you killed him?"

"I am telling you that he _broke into_ our house before I lost my patience with him."

"Jack would never do that!"

There was a silence, and then Erik sighed.

"Christine, Miss Guiry is about to tell you one or two things about Mr. Jacobs which you would perhaps not believe if I were to tell you. They may come as a shock to you – a shock, indeed, to the idealized version you cherish of your dead friend!"

* * *

"I´ve talked with Raoul," said Meg by way of greeting. She held the door open with her arm extended, one hand gripping the edge of the door, while her other hand rested on her hip. She was all business this evening, but she moved aside to permit Christine to enter and ushered her to a sofa.

"That complicates things," said Christine. Her heart began to pound in her ears.

"I´ve talked with Raoul, and he says that your husband murdered Jack."

"You know about Jack, then."

"I´ve seen his body, and so has Ashley. The police say he was robbed and murdered in a park and that they couldn´t contact Ashley until lately."

"Who´s Ashley?"

Meg laughed humourlessly, a dry, barking laugh. "You´re kidding, right?"

Christine looked at her, confused.

"Oh, hell! Nobody told you, not even your all-knowing husband? Jack was _married, _Christine! The whole time he was seeing me and coming on to you, he had a _wife_! Ashley Jacobs was waiting for him to come home all those nights he was with me!"

"He didn´t tell me," said Christine, stunned. Realization set in. "Erik wanted _you_ to tell me."

"I see he´s as much fun as ever. Well, consider yourself informed. The widow Jacobs and I are now such very good friends, Christine! We have so very much to talk about! She´d just love to meet _you_, by the way. We would both just love to hear your perspective on things. Did I tell you I called Raoul? What an interesting phone conversation I had with him!"

Meg had been pacing as she ranted, but now she sat down on the sofa, faced Christine, and leaned forward, her eyes penetrating. "What the hell happened, Christine?"

"Erik killed him. I saw his body in his lab! He says Jack tracked me, then broke into our house."

"And you left town in a hurry after that," supplied Meg. "You say he broke into your house?"

"That´s what Erik says."

"And you don´t believe him."

"I don´t know what to believe! Why would Jack want to break into our home?"

Meg sat for a moment, scowling in thought.

"Does your husband take his work home? You know, stuff from his lab work? Because Jack told me once or twice that there were things he wouldn´t let him see, even though he was on his research team. He resented it."

Christine sighed. "Erik has to be the most secretive person on earth. He has three pc´s which he keeps running all the time, and papers stacked everywhere. I´m not allowed to snoop, you know. He keeps all that locked up and out of sight."

"Well…maybe he _did _break into your house, then. It´s becoming pretty clear that we didn´t know Jack at all. He sure was interested in what your husband was doing, and he was interested in being your best friend or something more."

"There was nothing more!"

"Okay, Christine, okay. I´m sorry. I´ve been hard on you, I guess, and I jumped to the wrong conclusions. But tell me – was Jack asking you questions about your husband?"

Christine snorted. "Incessantly. But I thought he was trying to help me…"

"Yeah, we all know what a great guy he was," said Meg with a bitter laugh.

They sat together in silence, thinking. Finally, Meg broke the silence.

"You know what I think, Christine? I think your husband killed Jack, and I think he killed him for a good reason. I know that he´s been really cold to you and all, but do you suppose that he was defending you and the old homestead?"

"He said Jack had plans for me," said Christine said grudgingly. "I don´t understand it."

"Well, maybe it was blackmail. Maybe he planned to use _you_ somehow to get to your husband."

It was Christine´s turn to laugh, and there was pain in her laughter. "Really, Meg! If Jack had killed _me_, Erik would have been out the next day shopping for a replacement. You know how things were."

"Well, I guess you would know," said Meg, slowly. "Tell me, is it true what Raoul says? That you´re pregnant?"

"Yeah," said Christine softly.

"Congratulations," said Meg, but her tones were grim. "By the way, I´m going to have a houseguest soon. Raoul´s coming to visit as soon as he clears his agenda. He wants to make sure you´re okay."

* * *

As much as Christine asked and hinted, Erik refused to reveal more about Jack´s death. He considered the matter concluded, and he wished for his wife to forget about it.

"If you have difficulty forgetting, I can induce a type of amnesia specific to that memory," Erik offered helpfully; that was when Christine decided to drop the subject completely. Yet the image of Jack´s body and the knowledge that her husband had done murder hardened and crystallized in her memory.

Christine devoted the days that followed to calming the waters. She reminded herself that she could never hope to escape from Erik if he ever suspected that she was planning to bolt, so she hid every hint of her restlessness from him. It was easy for her to play the loving wife – in fact, it was not theatre at all. She simply gave in to her natural inclinations for the first time and lavished time and attention on Erik. Whatever she felt she had to say to him – about Jack´s death and other disquieting thing – would wait. Someday she would escape Erik, and she would perhaps leave him a letter. Perhaps not.

Erik confused her at first. His bearing had become gentler, and he seemed to accept her attentions with pleasure. He began to touch her, which was something which he had always seemed to avoid outside the bedroom. He began tentatively, almost timidly, at first, but as she clearly welcomed his caresses, he became bolder.

"I can´t sing long phrases as I used to," complained Christine one day. Erik had insisted on renewing their daily voice lessons as soon as possible, and he had personally selected her vocal exercises – one of them was a piece he had written specifically for her to practice with. Christine had soldiered through the piece without her accustomed brilliance – her voice seemed thick and sluggish, and she was breathless.

Erik left the piano and escorted Christine to a sofa, a gentle hand on her back.

"You are expecting," he said, as he gently moved an errant strand of hair out of Christine´s face. For a breathless moment, she thought he might put an arm around her shoulder, but he moved back to create space between them and sat facing her.

"I know," Christine responded dryly, "but I´m not really showing at all – I´m only four months along. The baby won´t be pushing up against my diaphragm – not yet, anyway."

"_Laryngopathia gravidarum,_" said Erik with a grave air.

"I´m dying of _what?_" asked Christine.

Erik blinked. "You have an edema, a swelling of the vocal fold tissue brought on by the hormonal changes of pregnancy," he explained. "The more scientific name for this phenomenon is _laryngopathia gravidarum_. We will have to be careful with your voice. Now is not the time to forge ahead and progress, but to be gentle with it. We will maintain as much of your range as we safely can."

"So my voice is ruined, then," said Christine bitterly.

"Not at all. This is transitory and should disappear postpartum," Erik clarified.

His air of satisfaction infuriated Christine, who was still struggling to accept this new limitation.

"You don´t seem terribly upset by this situation," she observed.

"Of course not," he replied, scrutinizing her for a moment.

_The baby…_

_

* * *

_

Christine was surprised when Erik insisted on accompanying her to her appointment with the obstetrician. He watched the ultrasound scan with such rapt attention, leaning forward and commenting on the baby´s progress, that she was momentarily frightened he might snatch the transducer from the doctor.

_He´s happy with me now because of the baby._

Once they had arrived at home, Christine went quietly into the bedroom and burst into tears. From down the hallway, she could hear the gentle sounds of Brahms played on the piano.

* * *

Nadir looked into the study, then searched the living room and kitchen. No sign of Christine. He grunted in irritation – he had never actually sought her out before, but he needed to communicate something to her. _One rule – maybe she´s capable of understanding one simple rule. _

Whenever he visited now, Christine would go through the ritual of serving him a Coke before he was admitted into Erik´s presence. Was she trying to placate him? Perhaps it was working just a little. He no longer found her quite so exasperating.

He finally located her in the utility room, struggling to pot a ficus. The skylights illuminated the room with bright afternoon sunlight, and Nadir noticed with some satisfaction that she was getting fat; her perfect figure, which he had admired against his will, was no longer quite so perfect. She held the newly-potted plant up, her hands sheathed in ridiculous pink gardening gloves, and brushed potting soil to the newspapered floor. She had been untidy in her work, and there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Something about the sight annoyed Nadir.

"Raoul De Chagny is in town!" he barked without preamble, and Christine gasped and dropped the plant. The pot shattered on the floor, and the ficus listed at an angle, its roots entangled in the mess of potting soil and its dark leaves touching the floor. Christine held a hand to her chest, breathing deeply.

Nadir watched her in amazement. _What is wrong with this woman? _

"What is wrong with you?" he asked her.

"You scared me!"

"You are married to who you are married to and _I_ scare you?"

"You came out of nowhere and shouted at me," sighed Christine. "Now, what was it you wanted to say? And you don´t have to shout it, you know."

Nadir glowered at her for a second. "Raoul De Chagny is in town. He is now at your friend´s house, as I am sure you know. You will not see him, do you understand? I am to make sure you do not even talk to him."

Christine looked at him, and her expression was grim. "I have no plans to speak with Raoul, okay? And I certainly don´t plan on meeting with him. I want him to have a long, happy, healthy life."

"Good," said Nadir, and he watched as she picked the pot´s shards up and dumped them in a nearby trash container.

"Another pot…" muttered Christine, picking up an earthenware pot which was surrounded by wicker basket work. "This won´t do, though. It´s pretty…but it has a handle. It´s kind of odd-looking," she observed.

"Where did you get that?" asked Nadir, and he approached Christine to look at the basket more closely.

"It was in Erik´s study in a corner, just gathering dust. I thought I´d put it to good use."

Nadir laughed. "It´s a _kanger_…a _kangri_ pot, Christine!"

"I´m sorry – what?" she asked, and put it down quickly, as though it burned her hands, looking at it suspiciously.

"It´s Kashmiri. In that part of the world, the winters are very cold, and you put hot coals into it here" – he indicated the pot – "and sit with it between your legs, like this, you know." He sat on a nearby stool with the basket between his thighs, smiling.

Christine smiled back at him, amused, and noted that he seemed relaxed for the first time ever around her.

"I´ll bet this cost Erik all of 100 rupees. It´s a rather good one," he commented. "And _you_ wish to put a plant in it!"

"I never knew what it was. Erik never told me – he never told me anything about his travels," commented Christine ruefully, and she began to sweep up the plant mess.

"There may be a good reason he never told you," said Nadir, and his smile had faded.

Christine sighed. "Yeah, well, maybe." She looked at Nadir with sudden interest. "You´ve been to Kashmir?"

"Yes."

Silence.

"You´ve travelled a lot, yourself, then."

Nadir snorted, watching her.

Christine tried again. "I suppose you miss Iran sometimes, though, don´t you?"

She shifted uncomfortably as Nadir continued to look at her, and just as she had given up on his answering her, he spoke softly.

"I miss it a great deal."

"I´m sorry. Really. Maybe you could tell me about Iran – you know, what it´s like, and all," she ventured.

"I…" he started, but Erik´s voice interrupted him.

"What are you doing in here?"

He was staring at Nadir from the doorway, ice in his eyes.

"He came here to tell me to stay away from Raoul," Christine supplied helpfully, taking off her gloves and examining her wrists for dirt.

"Raoul de Chagny has arrived in town," said Nadir sullenly.

"You need not approach my wife with that information," Erik remarked, and now he looked at Christine. "There are better conversationalists here than Mr. Karrubi."

"I was simply asking him about his home country," said Christine. Her voice was like a sigh.

Erik approached, and, taking out his handkerchief, wiped the dirt off her face with a careful hand. "If it´s Iran you wish to know about, you may ask _me_," he said.

Christine briefly considered protesting that he had never been in the mood to tell her anything about his travels; she thought the better of it, however, as curiosity stirred within her.

"You´ve been to Kashmir, Erik?" she asked.

"I have. Come, do you wish for me to tell you about it?" he asked, and he placed a gentle hand at her waist to propel her out of the room.

"Well, of course, Erik – I had no idea you´d been there. I very nearly planted a fern in your kangri pot!" Christine chortled, lost in the novelty of Erik´s sudden openness.

As he left with Christine, Erik glanced over his shoulder at Nadir so briefly that his wife missed it completely -- but Nadir felt his blood turn to ice at the expression he saw in those amber eyes.

* * *

"I really hope you don´t mind sleeping on the hide-a-bed," called Meg from her bedroom as she searched her closet for hangers.

"Of course I don´t mind! I´m just grateful you´re letting me stay here with you," Raoul said as he rummaged through his suitcase. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out quickly, then groaned in disappointment. _Angela. _He quashed the call, and he briefly considered blocking her number. He had done his best to explain, time and again, that he was no longer her boyfriend, that their relationship was _over, _but she continued to call, and he continued to explain. His dearest hope right now was that Christine might call. He stared at his phone absently, thinking of her.

"She´s not going to call, you know," said Meg. Raoul turned to see her standing in the doorway of her bedroom. She approached him now and handed him some clothes hangers.

"I have to talk with her – I have to find her," Raoul insisted, running his fingers through his hair.

"No, you don´t! I´ve already told you, Raoul. The only person who can help Christine right now is Christine – maybe. You don´t know Erik."

Raoul´s hand went unconsciously to his neck. "I have an idea what he´s like," he said dryly. "But there has to be some way…"

Meg´s phone rang, and Raoul leaped to answer it, holding the receiver to his ear as Meg mouthed something at him in indignation.

"Meg…?" Jeanne´s voice finally inquired.

Raoul exhaled. "Hi, Mrs. Guiry, how you doing?" he managed politely.

"Well…well, I guess. Who is this, please?"

"None of her business," said Meg, and she wrested the receiver from Raoul.

"Call you later, Mom," she said, and she hung up. She faced Raoul.

"I see we´re going to have to establish a few rules here…"

* * *

Nadir waited, pacing in the hallway outside Erik´s living room. The man could keep him waiting for hours, and yet he was still expected to be patient and deferential.

He paused in his pacing and listened once more. He had marvelled at the gentle, musical tones Erik employed in speaking with Christine. Though the sounds were muffled, the door was slightly ajar, and he pushed the door open just a little bit more to peek inside the room.

Christine was lying on the sofa, clearly sound asleep. Erik had put a blanket over her and was bending over her now, talking to her in a quiet voice. Nadir could not hear what he was telling her, but the emotion in his tones hit him with a sudden, electric thrill, and he shuddered.

Erik whirled about to stare at him, his eyes alive with hostility.

He approached Nadir with the grace and silence of a spectre.

"Nadir…I _do _believe we should chat…"


	8. Chapter 8

**As ever, my thanks to everyone for reading, and especially to those who take the time and trouble to review.**

**A certain someone complained that I am actually inflicting too much angst on my readers without giving them enough fluff to counteract it. I hope this chapter helps balance things out a bit!  
**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

**

* * *

  
**

Nadir felt a prickling sensation at his back as Erik followed him into the study. He was aware of the blackness of his mood, and it frightened him. His mind processed the position in which he found himself: Erik was angry with him, but would there be consequences? There were always consequences with Erik, but…there was Christine now. Christine, who had come between him and death once and whose presence in Erik´s house continued to save him, no doubt. Of course, he owed her nothing. Had she not existed, his life would never have been threatened in the first place. He tried to summon up his old hatred of her and failed.

Nadir´s thoughts turned from Christine to Erik. He had never witnessed any evidence of affection in his treatment of Christine before, but the intimate scene he had witnessed, the tones Erik had used to address his sleeping wife, were all that was love and longing. Had he missed something important?

"Christine did not invite you to join her in the utility room today. You sought her out." Erik´s voice cut into Nadir´s reverie, and its ice filled him with dread.

"I needed to talk to her. I needed to warn her not to give us any trouble – I needed to tell her not to see De Chagny," said Nadir, hiding the nervousness in his voice. He turned slowly, finally daring to face Erik, who was regarding him with a penetrating gaze which none of his enemies had ever resisted. So, it was to be an interrogation.

"She knows better. I do not appreciate such familiar treatment of my wife, Karrubi," Erik responded. He had stopped, his back to the doorway, but now he swept around Nadir to stand behind the ponderous oak desk at the other end of the room.

"I have never much approved of your attitude towards women, you know," continued Erik in conversational tones. "Your hatred for one in particular very nearly got you killed, as you will recall. I presume you continue to resent her? Or has that changed?"

Something in Nadir rebelled, and his face grew hot. "Your wife is just another woman. I don´t care about her one way or the other."

"What a marvellous relief!" Erik hissed. "Why, I was labouring under the delusion that you were about to have a very long, friendly, _revealing _conversation with her!"

"I would not -- never! -- tell her anything about your past. Why call up old ghosts?"

"Why, indeed? Respect for my wife, Nadir Karrubi – remember, I demand that you respect my wife. No insults, no intrusions, nothing which could upset her, especially in her current delicate state."

"Delicate state?" parroted Nadir stupidly. He froze as he interpreted Erik´s words, and something at once both hot and cold overcame him.

"_No," _he rasped slowly, finding it suddenly difficult to breathe.

Erik stood behind the desk, and he studied his reaction carefully, his eyes never leaving him.

"Oh, you need not worry, Karrubi. She is not dying! However, you have no idea how deeply your concern for her touches me. What a laudable change! You have clearly learned to esteem my wife. When I referred to her 'delicate condition,' I meant only that she is expecting a baby."

Erik enunciated the last words so crisply and clearly that confusion was impossible.

Nadir continued to struggle, and he took a deep breath, trying unsuccessfully to understand the feelings which were assaulting him. A sudden hatred of Erik, cold and clear, rose to the forefront of his consciousness.

When he dared to meet Erik´s gaze, he was smiling coldly and humourlessly, and his yellow eyes glittered.

"I see," he said, and the words came out as a slow hiss. There was a pause, and Erik moved slowly towards Nadir. He stopped mere inches in front of him, and he looked down at him as though considering his fate.

"For now, you will concentrate on preventing De Chagny from approaching my wife. One exception, however: he may speak with Christine in your presence. You may act as her chaperone. Perhaps when he sees that she is well, he will cease to bother us."

* * *

"_I love him, Joyce. It´s crazy, knowing you´re in love with a murderer, knowing you shouldn´t love him, trying to get over it. But I do, Joyce. Heaven help me – I do."_

Nadir finished listening to Christine´s voice for the third time as he finished a cup of tea, his brow furrowed in thought. He had intended to surrender the digital recorder to Erik once he had appropriated it, but something had stopped him. The recorder had sat on a book-shelf, neglected, until this evening, when he had finally surrendered to his curiosity and listened to its recordings.

He was puzzled by Christine. More importantly, he was puzzled by himself. Why did she cause him to feel the way he did? And what, exactly, did he feel for her?

He had tried to keep Christine two-dimensional – a cartoon figure, the femme fatale, the object of distrust and hate. In spite of his best efforts, she had ceased to become merely a woman. She was now a human being – she was sweet, desperate, complicated Christine, and he could never learn to hate her again.

Nadir now accepted that she had saved his life for reasons that were not selfish. It hurt a great deal to admit that he owed her his life, but now he did. He had been a brute and an ingrate, but she had responded with kindness. Had she any idea how lethal a weapon her kindness was?

His conversation with her in the utility room had shocked him. He had spent several long years away from his home country, and the feeling of _foreignness_, of _not belonging,_ had never left him. His habitual dour countenance and outlook had not helped him. His friends were few, and most of them assumed he was completely happy to have left the old country for better pastures.

"_I suppose you miss Iran sometimes, don´t you?"_

Christine had been the first person in years to show him anything approaching empathy, and something within him had stirred hungrily – _Someone understands! _

Why had he been furious to learn of her pregnancy? Why, now, did he hate Erik as he had never hated before?

A timer buzzed from the kitchen, but Nadir ignored it. He sat in his armchair, his head in his hands, thinking.

_Christine__! How can I help you?_

He had no idea what might become of her, married as she was to a man like Erik. _To a monster. _

He shuddered to think what Christine´s fate might be should Erik grow tired of her. For now, however, Erik considered her his, and he guarded his possessions very closely.

The digital recorder sat on his dusty side table, silent now. Erik had asked for it earlier, and he would have to hand it over without fail. There was nothing incriminating in what Christine had divulged to the counsellor – not so much as a surname or a city, so Erik would have no cause to be angry with her. Perhaps her confession of love near the end of the recording would melt some of the ice in his heart.

The smell of something burning roused Nadir, and he bolted from his armchair towards the kitchen, hoping to salvage something of his dinner.

* * *

As Christine awakened the next morning, she realized that her husband had carried her to bed. Somehow he had undressed her without disturbing her, and she was nude, as she habitually was when she shared the bed with Erik.

She felt oddly refreshed, and she opened her eyes to find her husband watching her.

"Thanks for putting me in bed," she mumbled, feeling slightly ridiculous. She was angry with herself. Just when Erik had started to talk with her – really talk with her last night – about Kashmir, about Punjab, and some other places he had been, she had _fallen asleep! _ She smiled at him, remembering.

His expression gained intensity, and he reached towards her to touch her hair. Something could happen, she knew – something breathtaking could pass between them.

She slapped herself mentally, and remembered her self-control. "The funeral´s this morning," she murmured.

Something dark flickered in Erik´s eyes, and they were guarded once more. He stroked her hair, sighing. "I shall take you there."

"I can drive, Erik! Besides, I want to see Meg afterwards."

She sat up on the edge of the bed, feeling awkward and ugly. Her belly seemed to be swelling more rapidly every day, and she would need maternity clothes very soon. A vision of herself in a maternity blouse rose within her mind: stamped in large letters across her enormous breasts was the word _BABY_, and a large black arrow pointed downward toward her bloated abdomen.

"Oh, my God," she moaned. The vision had caused her to forget Erik momentarily. She rubbed her eyes, then started when she discovered that he had seated himself next to her on the bed.

_Sex is not on the agenda right now. What are you doing here? _

"Oh, don´t look at me! I´m a whale right now, and it´s only going to get worse!" she moaned.

"Christine," he said quietly, and the order to look at him was implicit in his tone. She met his eyes reluctantly.

"You have never been more beautiful," he said, and she knew that he meant it. A cool hand stroked her back, and he leaned toward her hesitantly. The cool morning light was not his element, and words of comfort were not his medium.

Something fluttered within Christine, then fluttered again, tickling her beneath her flesh, and was calm. The baby was quickening. She stilled, waiting, wanting to be certain.

She noted Erik´s inquisitive gaze with a pang. _He loves the baby._

"Thank you," she said, smiling at him tightly, and she rose, ready to prepare herself for the day.

* * *

As usual, Erik prevailed, and he drove Christine to the funeral. She could feel his gaze following her as she met Meg at the door of the chapel.

"I´m glad you´re here," said Meg as they went inside. "Let´s get this over with."

The service was an ordeal. For some reason, Ashley had decided upon an open casket, and Jack´s waxy face was exposed for all to see. Christine observed that he wore more makeup than a geisha – his cheeks were an unnatural pink, as were his lips, and his hair, which he had always worn in a stylish tousle, was now slicked back and shellacked to his skull.

"He looks like Dracula on a bad day," commented Meg. "Boy, Ashley really found a way to get back at the creep!"

The eulogy was punctuated by sobs from a woman who sat alone at the back. Every now and then, Ashley, who was sitting in the front row, would turn to shoot a poisonous glance at the woman.

Meg stifled her laughter with difficulty. "Another woman who found out too late that Jack was married!"

* * *

The burial was too painful for Christine to attend – not because it was the interment of a sometime friend, but because her father´s burial was still fresh in her memory. She smiled at Meg apologetically as they got out of the car. The Oakview Cemetery stretched out before them, green as a golf course and nearly as well-kept.

"My father´s buried here, you know," she explained. "I´ll just go over to pay him a visit."

Meg nodded, and she followed the funeral party while Christine walked in the other direction.

She felt the warmth of gratitude as she approached her father´s granite headstone. The grave was well-tended, and the chrysanthemums and asters surrounding it were in excellent health. Pinkish-white petals covered the area, and Christine looked up to observe a cherry tree which was flowering in the cool sunlight of early spring.

Erik had been her strength during the latter part of her father´s illness and his death. It was he who had tended to the funeral arrangements when she had fallen apart, and it was he who had seen to the burial. Of course, all this had come at a price. Yet he continued to see to it that the grave was well-maintained, and Christine was grateful.

She leaned against the headstone, meditating. The baby within her fluttered again, a butterfly beating its wings, an impatient promise of life. _I´m a walking cocoon, _she thought, the happiness of feeling her baby's movement giving her thoughts an odd, giddy turn.

A movement a distance away attracted her attention, and she could see Erik approaching. _Odd. _She was so accustomed to his surprising her with his sudden appearances that she stood and watched him in frank astonishment. As he neared her, she noticed something bulky in his pocket, which she recognized as a voice recorder similar to Joyce´s. … _Similar to Joyce´s? _ Christine felt a sudden urge to run, but Erik had covered the distance between them quickly, and he now slowed, watching her. He paused as she backed slightly, clearly worried that she might run. He stretched his arms towards her instinctively, the palms of his hands facing upwards, and for some reason the gesture succeeded in calming her. His eyes were frantic with some emotion she could not interpret.

There was a brief moment during which neither one of them moved. Christine was balanced at the edge of flight, and Erik at the edge of outright pursuit, obviously beside himself. He finally remembered his voice.

"Is it true?" he finally asked, and his tones were soft and kept Christine glued to the spot. He seized his advantage, and she found herself in his arms in a heartbeat.

"Is what true?" she asked. Her voice was nearly a whisper, the product of desperately-hidden panic; his eyes blazed down at her.

"Do you love me?"

Christine looked up at him, mute with astonishment. Of all the things that Erik might care about, whether or not his hapless wife loved him would seem to merit the bottom-most spot. Yet here he was, in the grip of an odd type of insanity.

Thoughts chased each other through her mind as he gazed at her, unrelenting. Finally, the most primal and childish response emerged.

"Am I in trouble?"

He kissed her. He had kissed her in the bedroom before, and it had always been primarily erotic. This kiss, their first outside the privacy of that sanctuary, was sexual, yes, but there was a brutal, aching need to it. His whiskers burned her skin, his tongue invaded her mouth, and she felt herself fighting for air. His grip on her had tightened – it had been gentle, but now it was somewhat too tight. Lost in the moment and weakening, she returned his kiss, resting trembling hands on his shoulders.

He finally ended the kiss to look down at her, and he loosened his grip slightly. She looked up at him breathlessly, still wondering when he would recover his senses.

"Why are you crying?" she asked, worried now.

He simply pressed her to him, resting his chin on the top of her head, and murmured something she could not hear clearly. They remained that way for a long time, and Christine was aware of the breezes, of the musky smell unique to Erik, of birdsong, of his warmth and latent power.

Erik had gained some weight since her return – she noticed it now with some satisfaction, as she had resumed cooking his meals, and she said the first thing that came to mind.

"We´re having chicken tonight, you know."

The first detectable sign of his reaction was a trembling in his ribs, but it was quickly followed by his laughter.

"What are you laughing at?"

"At you, my dear; at you. You will make an excellent mother."

The words of endearment thrilled her, but she remembered, suddenly, that it was her pregnancy that he was in love with.

_Ephemeral bliss, how quickly you escape me!_

She glanced at her father´s headstone and sobered. What could Erik ever feel for her? How long could it ever last? How long could anything last in this life?

_Sooner or later, we´ll have it out. _

Meg´s voice interrupted their communion. She was calling Christine´s name.

"I agreed to go to lunch with her after the burial," she murmured.

"Very well," said Erik, but he did not release her.

He loosened his grip gradually. "There will be truth between us, Christine," he whispered. "Remember that. Whatever you think of me, remember that."

Meg had caught up with them now, and she hesitated as she saw Erik. He caressed Christine´s cheek one last time. "Until tonight," he whispered, and turned, walked a few paces, then seemingly vanished.

Meg whistled. "Well, _that _was an exit!" She studied Christine, who was frowning into space. "So, have things between you and your husband changed?"

"I´m not sure," she confessed, still frowning, then turned to look at Meg. "I think he´s happy about my pregnancy."

"Oh. Well, that´s good, I guess. Maybe I can tell Raoul not to worry so much. He wants to see you, you know. If he knew you were here now –"

Christine tensed. "He doesn't know I´m here, does he?"

"Of course not! I lied to him. He thinks I´m at work now, and he has no idea I´m seeing you today. He waits by the phone, Christine, in case you´ll call. He searched the university area for you yesterday. You´re going to have to see him or at least call him, okay? ´Cause he´s driving me crazy!"

"I…I can see him, as long as I´m chaperoned."

Meg looked at her blankly for a minute. "Well, I guess that´s better than nothing. Look, Christine, there´s another thing. I told Ashley the truth –"

"You told her _the truth? _What good can come of that?" Christine groaned.

"She had the right to know!" Meg insisted. "It´s not like she´s going to go to the police or something, either. She was looking for Jack, but I think she would´ve killed him if Erik hadn´t. Anyhow, she´s been wanting to meet you…she wants to talk to you, okay?"

"Well, let´s get it over with, I guess…" said Christine, sighing in resignation.

"That´s the spirit! Look, she´s somewhere over this way," said Meg, taking her by the elbow. Christine glanced back at her father´s headstone before she permitted herself to be guided away.

* * *

Nadir stood in the shadows at the edge of a grove, deep in thought as he contemplated Meg and Christine from a distance. He had witnessed part of Erik´s encounter with his wife, and his blood had run cold.

He felt the familiar prickling sensation of someone watching him, and he looked, half expecting to see Erik nearby. Instead, a woman regarded him from about twenty feet away, her dark eyes cool and calculating. She crushed out a cigarette and smiled at him in a complicit way that he did not at all like. He suddenly recognized her: _Jack Jacobs´ widow. _How long had she been there, watching him? He realized that she had quite possibly seen Erik and Christine together.

Christine and Meg started to walk away, and Nadir watched as Ashley left her hiding-place near the trees. She moved smoothly towards the pair as if on cue, still hidden by some trees, and Nadir was certain that she intended to intercept them. He followed her and watched as she overtook the pair, then stood, her back to them, until they caught up with her and saw her. _A look of surprise, a quick, friendly greeting, an introduction…_Why this bit of theatre? And why did she not care if he witnessed her subterfuge? The three women walked towards the parking lot, and he followed them from a distance.


	9. Chapter 9

**Once more, my deepest gratitude to all who have taken the time and trouble to review. I appreciate all feedback, and that includes **_**critical**_** feedback, too.**

** This chapter contains a bit more fluff, though of a rather dark variety.**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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* * *

  
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Sofia Loren gazed regally out from her gilt-framed portrait on the wall of the Ristorante Angelo, and Christine stared back at her – anything, _anything, _to avoid looking at Ashley Jacobs, who was commenting on the menu with Meg. What could she say to her?

_So, Ashley…we have so much in common! It seems I´m married to the same man who bumped off your husband! _

She let her eyes travel around the Italian restaurant – to its faux Etruscan urns, its hanging baskets with ferns, various still lifes, and even the other diners – before she dared a glance at Ashley.

She had barely been able to maintain her composure when she had been introduced to Ashley at the cemetery. _Meg, what were you thinking? _

Ashley looked up at her, and Christine realized, too late, that she had been staring.

"Have you decided what you´re going to order, Chris?" she asked, smiling.

Christine was too taken aback by her attempt at intimacy to protest the nickname.

"Um…I´ll just have a salad," she said, certain that she would be unable to eat a bite.

Ashley closed her menu and tapped the table with its corner, looking at Christine contemplatively.

"You can relax, you know," she finally said. "I´ll give it to you straight – if it hadn´t been your husband who killed Jack, it would've been someone else's, sooner or later."

Christine felt the color rising in her cheeks. "Oh…I´m _so _sorry…"

"Relax. You already told me that, okay? And it was real nice of you to come to the funeral. That was your wreath of yellow roses and glads, wasn´t it, at the left of the chapel?"

"Wreath?"

"Well, it was signed with your husband´s name, but I guess you must have been the one who ordered it."

"Oh…um…" Christine, in fact, had _not _been the one who had ordered the wreath, and she had not had any knowledge of it. _Erik! _"…I´m glad you liked it," she finished lamely.

"Yeah, it was real pretty. Almost as pretty as Jack! Did you see how well they fixed him up?"

Meg looked afflicted and shifted in her seat, and Christine was silent.

"Yeah, he never looked better," Ashley continued, with a broad smile. She extracted a cigarette from her purse and tapped it on the table.

"Um, I don´t think we can smoke here," started Meg.

"Oh, don´t worry. I´m just fidgeting with it. I´m a total addict, you know, and for some reason it helps me." She moved the cigarette with her fingers, one end tapping the table, then the other, in a constant circular motion.

The waiter came and took their order. He cast a wary eye on Ashley´s cigarette but said nothing. When he had gone, Ashley took up the reins of the conversation once more.

"I really appreciate your telling me the truth, ladies," she said, leaning forward, her voice quiet. "I really do, and I think I owe it to you – especially to _you, _Chris – to ease your conscience. I think that what Meg here suspects is right – I think Jack broke into your home."

Christine stared, stunned.

"Look, he was working on your husband´s research team, right? Well, you know what your hubby was working on, Chris?"

"Technology for skin grafts. And?" said Christine, recovering herself.

"Technology for deep skin grafts. He was using stem cells. He´d come up with several new types of cultured skin…"

"_Cultured skin_?" asked Meg, wrinkling her nose.

"Yeah, you know – real, living, transplantable skin patches grown in-lab. Well, some of these were transplanted experimentally in burn victims. In one in particular, the graft worked so well – no scarring, no problems with pigmentation, that it was unreal. This woman had the skin of a much younger woman, too!

"So, your husband and Jack had an argument. Jack saw a lot of money in taking the project off track and developing this kind of tissue for _cosmetic_ surgery. Did he tell you your husband fired him?"

"No, he didn´t," said Christine, but she knew without a doubt that this was true. A vision of Jack´s face rose in her mind, his eyes grim. _Your husband was really scary today, Christine. I don´t know how you get along with him – I´m worried about you, frankly. _

"He gave me a book with a tracking device embedded in it so that he could find his way to our home," said Christine.

"Yeah, I´m not surprised. Anyway, he had his fling with Meg here, but _you _were his link to your husband, and he knew your husband was taking all the important data home with him and keeping it there. So…"

"…So he needed to get into Erik´s house," concluded Meg.

_And Erik killed him. _The thought hung suspended between the women, unspoken.

The silence was broken by Ashley.

"I wanted to meet you, Christine, because you and I have something in common," she said, leaning forward and putting a warm hand on Christine´s.

"Something in common?"

"Yeah. You know…bad luck with the men we married. I hear from Meg your husband made you his prisoner and you ran away from him…"

Christine shot a reproachful look at Meg, who looked stunned.

"I don´t really remember telling you that…" Meg began, but Ashley waved a dismissive hand.

"It doesn´t matter. What I´m trying to say, Christine, is that I want to be your friend. I know what it´s like to be in a tough relationship, and it looks like your husband is abusive –"

"No, not at all…" interrupted Christine. "It´s not like that!"

"Christine, honey, what is it if a man locks you into your house? Abuse isn´t just about hitting, okay? Anyhow, I want you to know that I´m there for you if you need someone," she said, and she searched through her purse and pushed a card across the table to Christine: her phone number.

"Well…thank you," said Christine. In spite of her discomfort over Ashley´s opinion of her husband, Christine was touched by her offer of friendship. She glanced across the room and sighed. Nadir was sitting at a table in the corner, watching them openly.

"Don´t you ever get tired of that guy?" asked Ashley. "I saw him at the cemetery, and he was watching you like a hawk. What is he, one of your husband´s minions?"

"He´s okay. He´s supposed to keep me safe," said Christine, but she could not completely disguise the resentment she felt.

"Hmmm. He doesn´t know it yet, but he´s taking me home," said Ashley with a sly glance in Christine´s direction that caused her to laugh at this new absurdity.

Ashley had spoken in earnest. As soon as dessert was over and the bill had been negotiated, she moved towards Nadir´s table with purpose to her stride.

"He´s not going to like this," murmured Christine. She knew instinctively that, if _she _irritated Nadir, he would despise Ashley. She and Meg watched to see what might transpire.

Nadir nearly spilled his coffee. He gaped up at Ashley, and his countenance darkened.

"Shut your mouth, or you´ll attract flies," said Ashley as she pulled up a chair next to him – close, too close.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" hissed Nadir, and he cast a vigilant glance in Christine´s direction.

"She´s really something, isn´t she?" she allowed, following his glance.

Nadir glowered at her. "It´s my job to watch her. And she´s pregnant."

"Uh-_huh,_" said Ashley. "A word of advice to you: if you care about what might happen to her, you´ll come with me now. I´m going to meet some friends of mine, and I strongly advise, for your own good as well, that you come with me."

"You´re crazy!" Nadir spat, and started to rise. Ashley´s voice stopped him.

"You´ll miss out on a great deal of money as well, Nadir Karrubi."

"How did you know --?"

"Your name? I know a lot more than that. Shall we?" She stood, waiting.

Nadir glanced at Christine once more; he might once have suspected her connivance in something of this kind, but his new understanding of her yielded near-clairvoyance: she was clueless.

Ashley beamed a triumphant smile in Christine´s direction as she left with Nadir.

* * *

_Almost done. _Christine checked the chicken breasts in the oven once more; the rice was nearly finished, too, and the salad was ready. _Now, if only Erik would show up…_

"Christine?"

She nearly jumped; it was Nadir, not Erik. He watched her from the kitchen doorway, his face inscrutable.

"You scared me again! We have _got _to stop meeting like this, you know!" said Christine, smiling at him and shaking her head in exasperation. She pulled off her oven mitt. "How 'bout a Coke?"

"Thank you," he said softly, as he watched her. He thought about the offer he had received today. _She´s yours, if you want her, when this is all over. Think about it. All that money, too. Is it a deal? _

He knew he had no choice in the matter, and he was angry.

_We know about the little problem you __had before you left your country – your involvement with the murder of that diplomat. You weren´t involved? It doesn´t matter to _them _– they still want you arrested. We can fix things for you there, you know. Or we can make things very uncomfortable for you here, in this country._

Christine finished pouring his drink and handed it to him unceremoniously, keeping half her attention on the rice.

"Erik isn´t home yet," she commented offhandedly. "So if you´re looking for him –"

"He _should _be home. He should not neglect you," said Nadir heatedly, and Christine turned to stare at him, taking an instinctive step back.

"Well, I wouldn´t say –"

"No. No, of course you would not. You are a good wife." He sighed, and put more distance between himself and Christine, leaning against the doorway now, his dark eyes fixed on her. He seemed to consider something for a moment, and finally spoke.

"The widow told you about Jacobs. She did not tell you everything."

Christine continued to stare, but she paled visibly. Nadir looked at her carefully, assessing her condition, and elected to continue.

"There were more people with Jacobs. They were with a corporation called Frontier 4."

Christine recovered her voice. "Frontier 4? Isn´t that a chemical company? Don´t they -- ?"

"They have a biotech division, and they had an agreement with the university. Your husband did not cooperate fully."

"Is this about the skin grafts?"

Nadir scoffed. "It was, at first, but that was not all. Your husband had discovered something else. He had investigated something more important – something that made sodium pentothal look like a child´s play -- long before he worked with stem cells, and Jacobs suspected it. He came to this house looking for it, looking for anything he could find, and that is not the worst part. He had help from Frontier 4, Christine. He had people … people who were going to help him to take you, but he did not truly know Erik."

Realization dawned, and Christine felt nausea rising within her. "Erik killed them all," she whispered, and watched Nadir´s reaction. He did not deny it, and he stared at her, his face like a mask.

"It can´t be true," Christine continued, holding on to the counter for support, yet looking toward Nadir with a desperate kind of hope.

"If you want this confirmed, ask Jeanne Guiry. _She _knows. Yes, the woman knows. And you trust her, don´t you, Christine? Didn´t she introduce you to Erik?"

Christine nodded mutely, resigned, still leaning against the counter. Somehow, everything made sense. A leaden feeling settled in her stomach and limbs, and she removed the rice from the stove mechanically.

"_You may come and go. You are safe now…" _Erik´s words echoed and mocked her in her memory.

"You knew nothing," Nadir observed, watching her. He scowled darkly. "Your _husband _told you nothing."

Christine simply looked at him, mute and miserable, bile in her throat. She grasped her oven mitt absently, opened the oven, and removed the chicken. The glass casserole dish slipped from her fingers, hit the tile floor, and shattered. The floor was covered with shards of glass and pieces of chicken. Christine stared at the mess, detached, and pulled at her oven mitt.

"Go to the bedroom, Christine," came Erik´s voice. Christine glanced up and saw his dark form looming in the doorway. His gaze was cool – _too cool!_ – and fixed on Nadir, who returned it with unabashed hostility.

"No," said Christine. A type of tranquillity reigned within her, and she looked up, daring Erik to harm her. Icy reality had settled into her consciousness – her husband was not only a murderer, but a murderer many times over. He had kissed her that afternoon…

Erik´s gaze softened as he turned it onto Christine, and his golden eyes held a sad, gentle glow. It contrasted starkly with his mask´s baleful expression and his intimidating presence – he seemed to fill the doorway somehow, and his shoulders were tensed with a kind of coiled-up force.

"You must go to the bedroom," he repeated softly, and his tones were like silk velvet. She felt their pull, but resisted, and she avoided his eyes, glancing worriedly at Nadir instead.

"You need not worry. I shall not harm him," Erik offered, and he stepped forward and lifted Christine lightly into his arms and over the broken glass.

* * *

The moth on the lampshade fluttered its wings for a moment, then stilled, happy to be close to warm light. As Christine lay on the bed, she looked at it idly, observing the geometrical designs on its grey wings. _Camouflage – you should be sitting quietly on a tree, unnoticed, but here you are, in love with a 60-watt light bulb! Yet there´s not a creature on the face of the earth who´s more foolish than I am – imagine being in love with a serial murderer! _

She thought of escape once more, but Erik´s threat against Raoul was very real, though he was tantalizingly near. _Twenty minutes away._

She felt movement in the room: Erik had arrived.

"You need not worry for Nadir Karrubi. He continues in this world, in spite of his offensive behaviour."

Christine continued to stare at the lampshade, but Erik had calmed something turbulent deep within her. He paused, and then continued to speak. His voice was a caress.

"I remember the first time I saw you," he said, and she felt him as he lay down beside her, spooning against her, on the bed. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I thought I had gone mad. You had sung several bars of _L'amerò, sarò costante_, and you stopped to talk with the accompanist. As you bent over him, I was possessed by the most unnerving urge to kill him. I wanted you with a pain I cannot begin to describe. You have been everything to me ever since."

Christine buried her head in the pillow. "You don´t mean that. You were always so cold, so distant…"

"I wished for nobody to discern my feelings – not even you. I had done a very dangerous thing in marrying you, as I later found out – as you now know. Mr. Jacobs demonstrated that. He guessed at my weakness and intended to exploit it."

_A weakness. So that´s what I am to you. _

"…And if I had never met you, all the people you killed, even Jack, would still be alive," mumbled Christine miserably.

"On the contrary. More would have died. Do you find me silent and uncommunicative, Christine? Perhaps you would not enjoy hearing about my life – if you could call _that _a life – before I met you. I gave up certain pleasures when you arrived – I must admit that if you have ever ruined anything, you ruined a certain artistic bent of mine. Yes, I killed for you, but I killed quickly – I no longer take pleasure in lengthening things out. Can you regret this? Or perhaps you regret the fact that I killed to defend you. These men were interested in obtaining something from me and would have faced me sooner or later, even without your involvement in my life.

"Sublimation is a fascinating thing, is it not? To empty one pleasure out until it is a mere shell of itself, and transfer that joy to something completely different…even more tactile…" He was pressed against her closely, and she realized with a shock that he had unbuttoned her blouse. His voice was watered silk, beautiful, soothing, captivating. His fragrance, musky and manly, battered at Christine´s defenses. _The chemist and his pheromones; the spider on his web. _She realized with a start that he had removed his mask, though lamplight illuminated the room. His face was buried in the hair at the nape of her neck; his breath was hot, and he moved her hair aside to nip at the flesh there with his teeth.

Self-loathing assaulted Christine. _How could I surrender so easily? _She pulled herself away from Erik and jumped away from the bed as if scalded.

"No," she said, and she turned to regard Erik, who remained on the bed, maskless and dishevelled. His shirt was unbuttoned, and he watched her without moving, his chest moving only slightly with his now-shallow breathing. She did not lower her guard; she knew how very quickly he could move. Looking briefly to the side, she grasped a crystal vase and held it in front of her as a weapon, her stance defensive. She was exasperated when she saw a flicker of amusement in Erik´s eyes. He smiled slightly, his marred flesh bunching up oddly on one side.

"Really…?" It was a low, teasing purr.

"You think I´m kidding?"

He moved slowly to the edge of the bed and stood, his stance vigilant but relaxed.

"You know you are not being fair, Christine. I let Nadir Karrubi live, after all…"

She swallowed. She wanted him, and he knew it. He had listened to every minute of her conversations with Joyce, and she felt the disadvantage of her situation keenly. If he had known her well before, now she was impossibly vulnerable against him.

"Don´t come near me!" she warned, still wielding the vase.

He feinted, and she reacted quickly and threw the vase just past his head. It shattered against the wall. She reached towards her dresser for another object, but he restrained her quickly, pressing her against himself and murmuring to her soothingly. His hands caressed her, moving gently over her back and through her hair.

"Is it so difficult for you to give yourself to me, Christine? I know now how you feel," he continued, his breaths shallow and less controlled, and his hands more eager now.

She felt herself melting into him, but she pushed against his chest feebly, then fisted her hands into his shirt. It was useless.

"Your principles misguide you," he said as he placed her on the bed. His calloused fingertips were somehow feather-light as he divested her of what remained of her clothing. His breath was warm against her neck; only his chin and cheek were rough. "Everything between us is life; remember this, Christine. Think of the hearts that are still beating because you permit me _this_…"

Later, as he moved within her, she felt everything fall away – the doubts, the pain, the questions – until only he remained.

…_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
in secret, between the shadow and the soul._

_I love you as the plant that never blooms  
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;  
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,  
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body…_

(from "Love Sonnet XVII," by Pablo Neruda)


	10. Chapter 10

**As ever, my humblest thanks to all who have so kindly given me such encouraging feedback! My thanks as well to the reviewer who let me know that the love-scene in my last chapter was rather annoying. I appreciate the criticism, and I will bear it in mind as I continue this story. I may even rewrite that bit! Seriously – if something falls flat, you do me a great favour if you let me know about it. I´m here to learn. **

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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As she walked through the parking lot at Jeanne Guiry´s apartment complex, Christine looked over her shoulder. _There he is! _ Nadir was following her at a distance, and he hesitated as he realized that she had seen him.

She had been worried that Erik would dismiss or even kill Nadir, but her fears had turned out to be completely unfounded. Though Nadir no longer frequented the house during the days which had followed his revelations to her, he continued to follow her, more or less discreetly, whenever she went out unaccompanied by Erik. He had made no move to approach her or converse with her again. Once, her concern and curiosity had compelled Christine to approach _him, _but Nadir had moved in the other direction, quickly disappearing from her sight. The message had been clear.

"Mr. Karrubi will continue to protect you," Erik had told Christine when she had dared to ask about Nadir´s status. He had refused to discuss the subject further. _So many forbidden subjects! _There was a tacit understanding between Erik and Christine: all discussion of his past was verboten. Christine admitted to herself that, even if Erik had chosen to be open with her, she would never have trusted his explanations. She simply could not trust Erik.

Now, Christine found herself coming to Jeanne Guiry for answers.

"You _are _beginning to get fat," said Meg´s voice, and Christine turned to watch as she slammed her car door. She was carrying a brown paper bag with something bulky inside.

"Thanks," said Christine dryly, glancing down at her own midriff. "I really need to go shopping for maternity clothes, I guess. What´s in the bag?"

Meg opened the bag and tipped it toward her so she could view its contents.

"A little liquid persuasion…"

"But, Meg! That´s –"

"Look, Christine, you want answers from my mom? She shuts up tighter than a clam until she´s three sheets to the wind. I´m serious! You just leave this to me, okay? Don´t start asking questions until I do."

"I can´t do this to your mom…"

"Really? What´s wrong, Christine? Do you remember her as the supermom who gave us cookies when we were smaller? Maybe you should think about her as the woman who fixed you up with your dear hubby. I know a little something about that, you know. All those times Erik found you, when you were a student? All those accidental meetings, all the times you were alone and he approached you? Who do you think arranged all that? And, believe me, it wasn´t your welfare she was thinking about."

Christine was silent and looked at Meg miserably. The pieces of some grand puzzle seemed to be falling gradually into place; her life had been everyone´s plaything, it seemed.

"You didn´t tell me," she mumbled.

"I thought about telling you, but it was only a suspicion at first. By the time I knew for sure, I was dating Jack and worried that you were taking him away from me," Meg said candidly.

"You really thought that?" said Christine. _How could I have been so blind? _"Do you still think that?"

"Of course not, dimbulb!" snorted Meg. "I wouldn´t be telling you this now if I did, would I? And I know how you feel about your husband, anyway, and you know what?"

"What?"

"I feel sorry for you."

A thousand different protests sprang to Christine´s mind, but she was silent as they crossed the parking lot and ascended the stairway to Jeanne´s apartment door.

Nearby, Nadir lounged in the shadows, silent and watchful.

* * *

"Are you going to tell me who that man was who answered your phone the other day?" Jeanne Guiry finally asked the question directly. She had been hinting and fishing for the answer to this question for the past two hours, and Meg had parried her very effectively. Christine glanced at Jeanne´s glass. _Her third whiskey sour, and she´s dropped all pretence of watering it down. She holds her liquor remarkably well. _

Meg had very companionably poured some whisky into her own Coke and often made as if to drink it, but she had been nursing the same drink since her arrival. Nonetheless, she had successfully carried off the illusion that she was drinking, too.

"The man who answered my phone…" Meg said slowly, then broke into seemingly drunken giggles.

Christine looked at her, amazed. _She´s a fantastic actress!_

Jeanne leaned forward in her chair optimistically, her eyes fixed on her daughter.

"Was _that_ a man?" Meg chortled, then suddenly seemed sober. "Tell Mom who it was, Christine!"

Christine looked at her friend in amazement, then turned to Jeanne.

"Well, that would have been Raoul. You remember Raoul? You know, the guy I dated when Meg and I went to high school?"

Jeanne nearly dropped her glass. "He´s staying with _you_, Meg? Please tell me he´s not!"

"Of course he is, Mom! What kind of a friend would I be if I didn´t put him up?"

"Put him up to _what,_ Meg? What´s he doing in this city?"

"Visiting, of course. Why? Is there some reason he shouldn´t be here?"

"You know perfectly well!" said Jeanne.

"Whadda I know?"

"Erik!" hissed Jeanne.

There was a silence during which Meg fell off her chair and sat on the floor, scratching her head. Her drink remained in her hand, miraculously unspilled.

"So...? What could _you_ know about Erik?" snorted Meg.

There was another silence, and the question hung in the air. Christine marvelled at Meg´s skill at manipulating the situation. It remained to be seen whether Jeanne would take the bait…

"Everything!" Jeanne said, and she straightened up, pride and indignation on her countenance.

The clock chimed, and Meg and Christine leaned forward slightly, waiting.

* * *

"Well, hello, sailor!" said Ashley as she approached Nadir. He was leaning against the wall, watching Jeanne´s apartment door as if expecting someone to emerge at any moment. He directed a poisonous glance at Ashley and said nothing.

"Not very nice manners," Ashley observed. "You sure don´t like me, do you?"

The familiar question caused Nadir to turn and stare at Ashley in open hostility. How could two women who were such polar opposites tell him the exact same thing? It was strange; before he had known Christine, he had thought all women were the same. After that, it might have been easy to fall into the fallacy that all women were like Christine. Ashley had handily disabused him of that notion.

"What are you doing here?" asked Nadir, without bothering to veil his hostility.

"Everybody has to be _somewhere. _Why not here? Why not now? I just wanted to let you know that the boys and I really care about you. We´re keeping an eye on you, you know." Ashley´s voice was a seductive, contralto purr. She pulled a cigarette out of her purse. "Got a light? No? Well, I didn´t think you would." She produced a lighter and leaned against the wall, enjoying her cigarette. Her knit top revealed an ample bosom, and her tight jeans outlined the rest of an enviable figure. She stared at Nadir, her dark eyes calculating.

"Well, you may not like me, but your friend Raoul sure does," she murmured.

Nadir´s eyes flew to her face. "Raoul De Chagny? You know Raoul De Chagny?"

"Know him? We´ve gotten to know each other really well, I´d say. I´ve been spending my evenings at Meg´s apartment lately. We´re both worried about dear little Christine, it seems. We both want to help her escape from her ogre of a husband…"

"Why are you involving De Chagny?"

"Why not? Both he and Meg could help Christine make up her mind, you know. I can´t do this alone, and you´re not cooperating much. Are you still so terrified of your boss?"

Nadir offered only a hostile glare in answer to her question.

"He won´t know a thing until it´s too late. You always hated him, didn´t you? I wonder about you, honey…I get the feeling that the only person you care about in the world is Christine."

Nadir remained silent, but Ashley scrutinized him for a long time before she finally turned on her heel and left.

* * *

The door to the living room was open, and Christine tiptoed down the hallway, hoping that Erik would not notice that she had returned. The conversation with Jeanne had left her shaken and exhausted. _How can I begin to face him now? _

"_Erik´s mother hated him, you know. She was addicted to heroin, and his facial deformity was like a constant reproach to her. Deep down, she blamed herself for it. If only she had not needed her fix …Music was Erik´s only true friend, and became an obsession and means of escape for him. Then, something terrible happened. When Erik was 16, she was shot dead – a drug deal had gone bad. Erik blamed himself for not being able to save her…but he did succeed in finishing off the ones who had killed her. He was familiar with the underworld by then, friendless though he was, and he had learned a thing or two. He was already frightening…"_

Christine crept past the open living-room door, her shoes in her hand to muffle her footsteps. A glance inside revealed Erik´s back. He was in shirtsleeves, absorbed in his work, his suit-coat carelessly slung over the arm of his chair.

"_He left this city, his birthplace, and he left the country. You did not know that he was born here? What did you think? That Erik is perhaps European? No, though he spent his entire youth abroad. He had resolved not to come back unless__ his return was in some way… triumphant. Yes, that is the word. He had always been interested in chemistry, particularly in pharmaceuticals, and he earned his doctorate while doing…odd jobs. He became associated with unsavoury organizations in various countries and cultivated dubious alliances. He learned the art of silent, bloodless killing and often earned his bread that way. Then it occurred to him to extract information from his victims through the creative use of pharmaceuticals. Did I mention that he had learned elements of hypnosis and illusion? He became very valuable to the governments which hired him. Later, they would deny any knowledge of his existence…"_

As she continued past the door and down the hallway, Christine began to breathe again. He had not heard her. She continued towards the kitchen.

"_He returned t__o this city after a rather shadowy business involving the murder of a diplomat in Iran. For some reason, he remembered me – I had been a friend of his mother´s, before she became addicted, you know. I had visited once or twice afterwards, and it had always been depressing. At any rate, he remembered me, and for some reason wished to be remembered. He had done well for himself – he had amassed a fortune over the years. He saw that I was in dire straits – I had been in the accident which crushed my ankle only a year before, and I was in debt and jobless, and I had you to look after, Meg. He offered me a job – two jobs, really. You know that I instruct dance at the university, but you do not know of my other, secret work…"_

Christine put a kettle on the stove and searched the cabinet for teabags. She finally located rosehip teabags behind a package of noodles.

"_Erik worked for several insurance companies, you know, besides his work at the university. He was a loss adjustor! Does it sound pedestrian? He often laughed about his assumed job title. Yes, he saved the insurance companies money. __He would 'investigate' high-end thefts – art, jewelry, certain collectibles… He always recovered the stolen items. His connections with the underworld and his talent for making people talk yielded him a success rate just below 100% -- well, it would have been 100% if he hadn´t been appropriating certain choice pieces of each cache. The insurance companies were so delighted with the money that he saved them that they looked the other way, even when he had to kill to recover the goods. Often, he would simply expose fraudulent claims. Yes, they were very happy with him! They paid him well, but it was the art and jewelry which really attracted him, I think. My job was simple – I was a glorified lookout and getaway driver, but that was ridiculous. Everything Erik did was so well planned and executed that there was really no need for me. I was grateful that I never had to see him work. He always worked alone, you see. He had his secrets. Tell me, Christine – did Erik ever hang that Bretelmann that he acquired? I won´t tell you how he got that one…"_

The Bretelmann landscape, a late-Renaissance "Flight into Egypt," was hanging in the living room. "One of the few nocturnal landscapes of that period," Erik had commented. "Note the use of starlight and constellations, the sense of direction and purpose it gives to the flight of the Holy Family…"

_Flight._

The kettle began to whistle, and Christine poured the boiling water into her cup, watching as fragrant tendrils of steam began to curl upwards.

"_Then he saw you for the first time, Christine, and everything changed. He had arrived at the Fine Arts building to meet with me and discuss that night´s …assignment. He had always had a great amount of __artistic curiosity, you know, and he slipped into a recital hall to see what was going on. And there you were! When I met him that afternoon, he was trembling …absolutely trembling! He was silent – he did not say a word at first, then he simply told me, 'It´s off.' He handed me his knife as though surrendering it to someone in authority, and he left. After that, there were no more killings, no more 'loss adjusting.' He simply watched you and watched you, and months passed before he finally arranged an introduction. By then he was ravenous for you. He considered it great good luck and an encouraging sign that I knew you – he became nearly superstitious, as obsessed as he was! I expected it to fade. Well, it didn´t. He would call me in the middle of the night and ask questions about you, Christine. He was beside himself. The nature of his research, and his secrecy, had awakened curiosity, and he had enemies. He was afraid to show the world his interest in you, and I was the only person who knew – I was his only confidante. He tried to get over you, Christine. He really tried, but he became self-destructive during the times he was away from you. Do you know what he did once? He somehow stole a strand of your hair, and he took a needle and stitched it into his own flesh, right below the collarbone, to form a ring!" _

Christine thought of a newly formed, circular scar she had seen on Erik´s chest. She shuddered and put three teaspoons of sugar into her tea instead of the habitual two.

"_He wanted to be in your life, so he became your__ voice instructor, and you learned about the musical facet of his genius. He wanted to be everything to you, though. Your distress over your father worried him, and so he kept watch over him. Did you ever notice that your father never once seemed to be in pain? And as advanced and painful as his cancer was! Have you ever wondered about that, Christine?" _

She stirred her tea thoughtfully, trying to push away an awful suspicion that had formed in her mind. Her father had been serene, almost happy, in those last days…

"_You married him. He was happy – are you surprised? Nothing about Erik is ever clear, but I assure you that he was happy, and he knew it. You were clearly unhappy, but he considered that to be something temporary. Has he told you about his latest project, that bit of architecture which is dearest to his heart? No? Well, I won´t say anything, then…"_

_Architecture? Project? _

There was a current of air, and Christine turned to see Erik near the doorway. He slouched gracefully against the wall. As always, he was watching her attentively. His arms were folded, and his shirtsleeves had been rolled up.

"How long have you been there?" she gasped, as she finally found her voice.

"These past fifteen minutes. You have been deep in thought," he observed.

"I´ve been making a cup of tea," she replied. "Would you like one?" She started to shuffle through the pantry in search of his black tea.

His hand on her arm stopped her gently, and he closed the cabinet door and pressed her to himself in a gentle embrace.

"You are avoiding me. I felt you the moment you returned, and I know where you have been…"

Christine was silent and did not meet his eyes. There was a pause.

"…And I see that Jeanne has been in a communicative mood today. What has she told you, Christine?"

Christine remained silent, thinking of all that Jeanne Guiry had told her.

_He is obsessed with you…_

_No!_

_He needs you…_

_No!_

_You must stay with him and see things out…_

_No…_

"What did you do with my father, Erik? Did you…give him something?" _Did you kill him?_

She felt his lips on her hair. His fragrance, subtle yet masculine, threatened to distract her completely.

"I gave him morphine, Christine. They were not administering enough to him. I made certain that he was completely comfortable, nothing more. I would converse with him, during the evenings. For some reason, he enjoyed the sound of my voice…"

A memory taunted her. _I have heard an angel, Christine. It won´t be long now, and I´m at peace._

"Nothing more?"

"Nothing more, ever, Christine. I did not wish for him to suffer, and I certainly did not wish for _you _to suffer. He gave us his blessing, by the way."

"What?"

"He consented to our marriage; he gave us his blessing. I never told you, did I? I have been negligent, and I admit to it."

Her father´s voice: _You will be fine, Christine. I know it now._

"That would explain a few things," Christine conceded.

There was a pause while her thoughts wandered. Erik´s hand caressed her hair, then her back, keeping her close against him. The baby moved, and his hand stilled. _ He can´t possibly have felt that!_

"You started work on skin grafts after you met me?"

"I did. The novelty of the use of stem cells is that the skin may be cultivated, grown and saved, and skin banks can be created without the need for donor skin, with very few problems with matching and none with rejection…"

"_Skin banks_?"

"They already exist. I have been working on developing suitable _cultivated _skin for use in the banking system, and on improving preservation techniques."

"And you and Jack had a conflict over that?"

Erik stiffened against her. "Mr. Jacobs wished only for lucre. He had … associates who were willing to pay for further research on skin grafts for _cosmetic _use. It was widely thought that I was interested in treating my own deformity, and they tried to exploit that perceived weakness. That was when I abandoned my research. You know the rest."

"He used me," Christine murmured. "I´m sorry I was so gullible."

He lifted her chin with a gentle finger, and she was forced to look into his eyes. "It was my fault for marrying you. You have been forced into some …extreme circumstances because of who I have been, Christine, and I fear…" he trailed off, deep in thought, still looking at her. "I was selfish to marry you. I simply wanted you too much."

_Perhaps you´ll get over it, _she thought. _Passion never lasts. What does?_

"I simply _want _you too much, and always shall," he added, as though he could read her thoughts.

Christine sighed. "You don´t have to wear that mask around me, you know," she remarked, as the kitchen lights glinted off its smooth, white surface. "You _weren´t _thinking of your face when you became involved in skin graft technology, were you?"

Erik removed his mask and held it aloft, quietly contemplating it. "Perhaps," he admitted. "But you made it clear that your objections to me – no, do _not_ tell me that you have not harboured objections! – were based on moral, not aesthetic, considerations. You gave me hope."

_Objections. _Christine relaxed in her husband's gentle arms as he leaned back against the counter, sighing in the simple pleasure of the embrace. _Yes, I still have objections. What real good can come of such a bloody past? What if I´m doing more harm than good by staying with you, Erik?_

She suppressed her questions and tried to ignore her nagging feelings of guilt as she reveled in the fragile peace that they shared.

* * *

"Would you stop looking out the window like that? You´re as nervous as a Chihuahua!" moaned Meg as she watched Raoul peer through her blinds for seemingly the hundredth time. "The neighbors are going to get antsy and complain!"

From her position on the sofa, Ashley laughed. _A soft, throaty laugh_, thought Raoul to himself, turning towards her and smiling sheepishly. He felt all the warmth of friendship for Jack´s widow. Not only was she patient under the suffering caused by her recent loss, but she had proved to be a good friend to Christine, whom she hardly knew.

"I´m sorry. I guess I _am_ nervous, but I still can´t believe I´m finally going to see Christine. It sure took her long enough to agree to meet me…"

Meg directed a scathing look at him. "She just doesn´t want trouble. Her husband nearly killed you, after all, and he might just want to finish the job. Look, Raoul, I know that you and she once dated, but what will it take to convince you that it´s a bad idea for you to get involved with her life? Everything´s different now…"

"Aw, come on, Meg," said Ashley. "Give Raoul a break. Can´t you tell that he´s sweet on her?"

"He shouldn´t be!" snapped Meg, scowling. "And besides, he´s just recently broken up with someone. He´s got the usual feelings anyone has on the rebound. What was the name of the one who broke your heart? Angie?"

"Angela!" snarled Raoul. "And she didn´t break my heart! She just turned out to be a …"

Meg leaned forward. "Come on, now, Raoul…you can say it! Go ahead and use the 'b' word. We´re all grownups here now."

"Give him a break, Meg!" Ashley said. "He´s a good guy, and he wants to help an old friend. Anyone can understand that!"

There was a knock at the door, and the three froze just as Meg was about to speak. She hurried to the door and opened it without looking through the peephole.

"Well!" she said, "if it isn´t Mr. Karrubi! Imagine that! To what, sir, do we owe the honor of your visit?"

"Please shut up, Meg," said Christine, appearing from behind Nadir. "You know Erik won´t let me see Raoul without a chaperone. Anyway, Nadir´s okay. Really," she added, looking into Meg´s living room and waving at Raoul with a timid smile. She remembered all too well the circumstances of their last day together.

Raoul bounded forward wordlessly and enveloped her in an enthusiastic hug. "Girl!"

"No!" barked Nadir and, grasping Raoul about the ribs, pulled him backwards and away from Christine. Raoul rounded on him, clearly ready to brawl.

"No, Raoul!" said Meg, "A fight would end Christine´s visit real fast, wouldn´t it? Do you want that?"

Raoul froze and slowly lowered his fist, glancing at Nadir and shaking his head.

"Why don´t we all just sit, now," ventured Christine. "Meg, could we serve Nadir here a Coke? Do you have Coke? And then maybe we can sit and chat," she said in a thin voice, eyeing the men nervously.

Meg rolled her eyes. "It´s gonna be a long evening!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Need I tell you how grateful I am for all your feedback? Well, I am! Many thanks to all who read, and special thanks to those who take the trouble to leave their comments. **

**I do not own POTO, or its characters. **

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"I brought you something," Ashley said to Christine, after the tension had finally dissipated and Raoul and Nadir were seated at opposite sides of the living room, glowering at each other. She retrieved two large, plastic bags from a corner of the room and brought them over to Christine, seating herself beside her on the sofa.

"Look, I have a cousin who just had her tubes tied, and she was happy to get rid of these maternity clothes. They´re pretty new, and I think they´re kind of nice," said Ashley, pulling a dress from one of the bags to show to Christine. "She´s more or less your size, you know, and she has just _great_ fashion sense. Anyhow, it´s better not to spend too much money on maternity wear – you´ll be sick of it all by the time you´re in your ninth month."

Gratitude for Ashley´s thoughtfulness warred with exasperation within Christine; she peeked into the bag to glance at the rest of the clothes, hoping her smile was not as artificial as it felt.

"They´re not exactly your style, are they, Christine?" commented Meg, who had approached to look at the contents of the bags. She examined the items one by one superficially, sorting through them with her fingertips, until she came upon a pink top, which she pulled out and held up for everyone in the room to see. "Yeah, I can see you in this, Christine!"

It was a pink knit top with _BABY _marching across the chest in boldface letters. Beneath the word, an arrow pointed downwards towards the area waiting to be filled by a heavily pregnant belly.

"Oh!" said Christine, and her manners abandoned her. "I can´t wear that!"

"_Christine_!" said Raoul reproachfully. Christine glanced at him, annoyed. _How can you wear only the latest styles and be happy to see me in this? _

"I´m sorry," she said, turning to Ashley with what she hoped was a conciliatory smile. "It´s just that one top. I´ll make good use of the rest of the clothes," she said wanly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Meg give her a sharp glance. The other clothes in the bag, though better than the Top from Hell, were better suited to a woman with different coloring and tastes.

As she examined a pair of jeans with an elastic inset, Christine thought of Erik and the first awkward days of her marriage – and of a closet filled with clothes which had been made especially for her, down to the most delicate lingerie. Somehow the clothes that she had brought with her when she had moved into his house had disappeared, and she had been obliged to wear what Erik had wordlessly provided her. Every morning, when she greeted him quietly at breakfast, his custom had been to peruse her person quickly, from head to toe, offer a curt nod of approval, and return to his paper, though something of his gaze remained with her and charged the air. Her own feelings had been those of a strange, new type of humiliation – he directed every aspect of her life, down to the last thread of clothing she wore.

Would Erik care what she wore now? Probably not, she decided. She would soon very closely resemble a cow, after all.

"I hope he likes these," she murmured, and knew immediately that she had said the wrong thing.

"You hope _who _likes these, Christine?" asked Ashley with a touch of irritation. "What do you mean?"

"Her husband is kind of picky about the clothes she wears," supplied Meg quietly.

"What kind of an anal-retentive bastard would be that domineering?" snarled Ashley. She seemed increasingly unhappy about the less-than-enthusiastic response to her gift.

"The kind of anal-retentive bastard who nearly kills people," offered Raoul, rubbing his neck. "The kind of guy Christine should be leaving…"

"My employer will kill you if his wife leaves him," said Nadir to Raoul in flat, matter-of-fact tones.

There was an immediate silence. Raoul stared at Nadir in shock; Nadir looked back at him, his face inscrutable.

Ashley broke the silence. "Well! Isn´t that nice? So you´ve been staying with your violent, domineering husband all this time because he´s been blackmailing you?" She turned towards Raoul and gave him a significant glance.

Raoul blanched and pressed his lips together and looked down at his feet. Without looking up, he addressed Christine quietly. "Is this true?"

Christine was silent. Protesting her love for her husband to this group of people, at this moment, under these circumstances, seemed hopeless. Erik had never retracted his threat, and she was certain that he would not hesitate to use Raoul as a pawn – it would be the least of the evils which could befall Raoul if she were to leave her husband again.

"Well, I´m not really sure…" she began, but Nadir interrupted her.

"It is the truth."

Another stunned silence. Finally, Ashley leaned forward to hug Christine.

"Baby, I knew things were bad, but I didn´t know how bad they were with you. I think it´s about time you knew something. I´ve talked with Nadir here, and he´s told me a lot about your husband, and it´s none of it very nice…"

Christine stole a startled glance at Nadir from over Ashley´s shoulder. He smiled at her weakly and shrugged.

"…It´s none of it nice at all," continued Ashley as Christine broke free from the hug awkwardly. "And I´ve been wanting to let you know that I can help you, if you need it. I can help you get away from him."

A feeling of alarm surged through Christine, and she dared another glance at Nadir. "Thanks – I appreciate your offer, really, but things aren´t that bad – honest! My husband is a good man, really, in spite of what he´s done – and I need to stay with him so that he won´t suffer and do something…rash. If I were to leave and something were to happen, I could never forgive myself."

She was rambling, and she knew it. She realized quickly that she had said too much in the face of Ashley´s implacable concern.

"You are _not _Jesus Christ, Christine," snapped Ashley. "You cannot save a man from himself, and you weren´t placed on this earth to watch over a man who´s incredibly violent. That is not your responsibility, honey, and anyone who tells you otherwise is telling you wrong. You know what you are if you stay with him? You´re an _enabler. _You´re letting him threaten you and walk all over you, and things are not going to get better. What on earth do you see in him?"

_Someone who needs me as much as I need him! _Christine was surprised when the words popped into her head of their own volition. She was silent, however.

"I see," continued Ashley. "Look, Christine, I'm older than you are, and I´ve had enough experience with men to know that sooner or later you´ll want to escape this lunatic you´re living with. I just want you to know that I have friends who can help. If you´re worried about Raoul – if that´s what´s keeping you with that man – then my friends can protect him, too."

"Friends?" inquired Christine, trying to keep the doubt out of her voice. _Is this woman touched in the head? _

Ashley appeared to read her thoughts. "They´re professionals, Christine. They´ve worked as contractors for the government, and they could defend anyone, believe me, and they´re very good at helping women who are escaping stalkers and the like. They´re really nice guys. Aren´t they, Nadir?"

Christine looked at Nadir in astonishment as he nodded silently. She had been surprised at Ashley´s openness in front of Nadir, and even more surprised that Nadir seemed to be cooperating with her – he _was_ working for Erik, after all. Wasn´t he?

"You do not need to stay with him," Nadir said softly, and Christine had to strain to hear him, as did everyone else in the room. "I will help you to escape. These friends of Ashley…I have met them. They can protect you, even against _him._"

_Nadir? _Christine felt her head spinning with the depth and strength of his betrayal.

"Just think about it, Christine," said Raoul, and she looked up to see that everyone in the room was looking at her, their faces masks of sympathy.

"Stop pushing her!" snarled Meg, and Christine rose from the sofa and started for the door as Raoul, Ashley, and Meg began to argue.

"I´m sorry, but I´ve got to go," she murmured, swallowing tears.

Nadir rose to his feet, prepared to follow Christine, but it was Ashley who reached her first, grasping her arm before she could put her hand on the doorknob. Nadir stiffened visibly as he watched, but no one noticed.

"I´m sorry, honey – really! I didn´t mean to pressure you. You do what you want, okay? I just wanted you to know you have a choice, and I´m here to help you. You have a lot to think about now, what with that baby on the way, too. I just want you to know I´m your friend. Look," she said, as she handed Christine a tobaccoey-smelling Kleenex from her purse, "I´ll just give you my phone number, 'kay? And don´t forget the clothes!" she added, as she handed the clothes-filled bags to Christine, who finished wiping her face and accepted them reluctantly.

"Thanks," she murmured, and she pulled open the door and nearly screamed. Angela Fanning was on the other side, her hand poised to ring the doorbell.

"Well, look who we have here," Angela said, smiling maliciously. From behind her, Christine could hear Raoul´s moan.

* * *

_Many women experience a significant increase in sex drive during the second trimester of their pregnancy…_

"No kidding," murmured Christine to herself as she put her pregnancy guide, _Expecting the Best, _down on a side table. She glanced appreciatively at Erik´s back again. He had rearranged the furniture in the living room just after breakfast, and he was now in shirtsleeves, his tall figure braced against the piano as he pushed it to the other side of the room. She watched him, fanning herself.

"Are you warm?" asked Erik, glancing towards her without actually meeting her gaze. His voice was soft, and its melodious timbre thrilled her.

"A little," she said uncomfortably, and something in her tone caused her husband to stare at her. She had his full attention now. _Darn! _He was like a bulldog whenever he subjected her to his scrutiny, and he never gave up until he had extracted the truth from her.

"Christine, what´s wrong?" he asked, brushing off his hands and approaching her.

_Your fat cow of a wife wants to go to bed with you, that´s what´s wrong! _

Every change in her relationship with Erik had wrought unexpected consequences. His new gentleness with her and his timid expressions of daylight affection were no exception. She was now more relaxed around him, and she found herself drawn to him in ways which were as often erotic as platonic. She found herself in a curious situation: for the very first time in her life, she wished to initiate sexual intimacy, and she did not have the first idea how. Erik had always been her guide in their bedroom, and she felt her own awkwardness keenly when she thought of his worldly sophistication.

She glanced surreptitiously at the bags of maternity clothes she had parked in the corner of the room without bothering to take them to her closet. She had come home from her visit with Meg, Raoul and Ashley two evenings ago, and she had sought refuge in Erik as a child seeks refuge in its mother´s skirts. He had noticed her clinginess, of course, but he had refrained from interrogating her about it. Perhaps he thought that she was under the influence of pregnancy hormones.

Erik continued to stand over her. "Christine?"

She took a deep breath. "I´m fat and ugly, and I´m getting fatter and uglier by the day – that´s what´s wrong!" she said, and managed to meet his gaze.

He stared at her for nearly a minute before he started to chortle. She blushed to the roots of her hair.

"You are joking," he ventured, but there was uncertainty in his voice.

As if to illustrate her point, Christine jumped to her feet in exasperation, retrieved the bags of clothes from the corner, and brought them to the sofa. She pulled out a bile-green maternity dress which was replete with frills and pleats. Erik had remained where he was, but he was clearly no longer amused. In fact, his entire stance had become rigid.

"Where the _hell _did you get _that_?" he hissed, indicating the sacks with a stiff hand.

"Hand-me-downs from Ashley," muttered Christine.

"I will _not _have you wearing this trash!" he snarled, and, seizing the bags, shoved them into the fireplace. He backed away from them as if he feared contamination, and then pitched something into the fireplace with a spiteful hand. There was a snapping noise, and the bags burst into flames.

"Oh, well done!" Christine spat. "_Now _I´ll have to go shopping!"

Erik turned towards Christine. "Have you looked into your closet lately?" he asked quietly.

"Well…yes…" she said, but something nagged at the back of her mind. Her closet was enormous, and she had missed something, she knew. "But maybe not thoroughly," she finished lamely.

"You will find the clothing I have selected for you at the back of your closet. You will _not _insult me by dressing like a pauper suffering from daltonism, do you understand?"

Gratitude, guilt, resentment, need, and something even stronger competed for too little space within Christine, and she solved the problem by bursting into tears.

Erik stood frozen to the spot, surprise and panic in his eyes. He seemed oddly helpless, and Christine would have found it amusing had she not been in the state she was.

"You should unload me, Erik. You…you should get rid of me! What size … what size did you get me, 'Mammoth Big Mama'? Cause that´s the size I need! No wonder you only wanna make love _in the dark!_ I´m…I´m a _toad _with an_ attitude!_" she wailed miserably.

Sudden understanding dawned in Erik´s eyes, and they shone now with an eager glint. Though graceful, his movements were so rapid that he seemed to pounce on Christine.

"Come," he said, and his voice vibrated with desire.

"You don´t have to –"

He swung her easily into his arms and carried her into their bedroom.

* * *

Erik was so diligent in his efforts to shore up his wife´s self-esteem that they did not leave the bedroom for several hours, and intelligible conversation was impossible for a long time.

Christine awakened in her husband´s arms, and she stared drowsily at the silvery, circular scar which stood out on the plane of flesh just beneath his collarbone. She knew he was awake and she was aware that he was watching her quietly, but she did not feel self-conscious. She moved her head slightly downward to place her ear over his heart, and she listened to its pumping for several minutes, thinking of another tiny heartbeat – so rapid, so fragile, so full of promise. She felt the baby´s impatient movements more often now; they seemed to be increasing in force, too.

Erik´s long fingers caressed her abdomen lightly, then waited. The baby fluttered and stilled, and Christine could feel her husband´s smile as he kissed her temple.

"You know, I thought you only cared about the baby for a while there," Christine said, finally breaking the peaceful silence. "I thought that was why you brought me back home."

"No," said Erik, and though his voice was quiet, Christine could feel the word vibrate in his chest.

There was a silence between them. Finally, Erik spoke, and Christine looked up to see him gazing into the distance – a terrible, reptilian gaze to all save his wife, unmasked as he was.

"I thought I might have to let you go, you know," he murmured. "You had been so unhappy with me, after all, and when I found you, I watched you. You had established a life for yourself, and you seemed so damnably content. Just when I had nearly despaired – just when I had decided that it was best for me to write my final adieu – I discovered that you were carrying our child. I cannot describe the effect it had on me.

"Do you believe in divine intervention, Christine? You needn´t answer; I know that you do. No symbol could have been clearer than the heart which beats between us. It saved everything."

"You mean you wanted me back anyway, pregnant or no?"

"I understand how you might doubt it, but that is the truth. As I have told you, Christine, there will be truth between us."

* * *

_No movement yet. _Nadir sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had been waiting for Christine to appear for the past several days, and she had not. The only part of Erik´s home which was visible from the street was an unremarkable-looking garage. Any outside observer would merely have shrugged at the sight of it and continued on his way, but Nadir knew of the several routes – fraught with traps, all of them – which connected the garage to the house.

"_I am tempted to dismiss you, Karrubi, but for your loyalty to my wife,"_ Erik had remarked during their last conversation. _Do you have any idea how loyal to her I am, Erik St. Amand?_

Erik St. Amand. He was the cause of all this trouble. His murderous past was the reason that Christine would have to be tempted away from his home. Hell, his _murderous past_ was the reason that Nadir himself had been driven from his own home!

"_I do not wish for you to seek my wife out. It is I who will tell you when you may speak with her." _No! He needed to speak with Christine, and soon. He was afraid that Ashley´s aggressive approach had frightened her, and that there would be no way to lure her away from Erik now. A curse on Ashley! Her noisy approach had backfired and driven Christine closer to Erik rather than away from him.

The garage door opened, and Nadir caught a glimpse of Christine. She clasped the medal at her neck for several moments, mouthing a prayer, then entered her car. _Perfect. _As she left the gated drive, Nadir followed close behind.

* * *

_Onions, bell peppers, tomato paste, shrimp…_

Christine checked her shopping list. _Shrimp Creole tomorrow night, but tonight we go out to eat. _She felt a flutter of anticipation. It was the first time she had gone out to eat with Erik in years, and the very first time she had actually looked forward to it. She thought back to the days just after her father had died, when Erik had taken her to a quiet restaurant every evening and nearly forced her to eat, his face grim and his demeanor unyielding.

No, tonight was different. Tonight they would be eating at Els Quatre Gats, which was the most stylish restaurant in the city.

For the first time in a long time, flight from Erik was not constantly in Christine´s thoughts. She was grateful to Ashley for forcing her to face reality: separation from Erik could only hurt them both.

Christine paused to look at some tomatoes.

"Christine?"

She turned to look at Nadir, who had turned a corner so rapidly that she was now standing not four feet from him.

"Nadir…Hi!" she said weakly, and she stepped back slightly. "Listen, I don´t know if it´s a good idea for me to be talking with you. I haven´t told Erik what happened the other night, and I know you were just trying to help me, but you´re supposed to be working for _him_, not me, aren´t you?"

"I am worried about you, Christine. You know this man´s past. Do you think he will not turn on you some day?"

Every instinct within Christine answered the question for her. "No, Nadir," she said slowly. "You don´t need to worry about me. But let´s not talk about this anymore, okay? I don´t think my husband would like it."

_My husband. _

Nadir watched as Christine walked away, and he noticed with a protective tenderness that her pregnancy was now definitely beginning to show.

_Very well. _If Christine could not be _persuaded _to leave Erik, he would have to try another, more violent tactic.

* * *

"_Caragols a la llauna_?"

Christine looked at Erik inquisitively, waiting for him to translate.

He smiled indulgently. "Oh, I do not think you would care for those, especially in your condition…"

"Well, maybe I would! What are they?"

"Snails with a type of piquant sauce. Still eager to sample them, my dear?"

"Oh…well…maybe not. Anyhow, they´re _way_ too expensive. Maybe I should have an appetizer and stop with that."

"I did not bring you here to have you 'stop with an appetizer,'" said Erik, a trace of indignation in his tones.

"Well, I don´t want to eat like a horse at a place as expensive as this," protested Christine rather weakly.

"Oh, but by all means, _do_," purred Erik. "Amuse me."

Christine tried to kick her husband under the table and failed. He smiled at her devilishly, then reached across the table to cover her hand with his. "You are to do me the favour of ordering whatever your heart desires. We are wealthy, after all, and what´s the good of wealth if you refuse to enjoy it?"

"It´s the first time you´ve ever referred to your money out loud. I thought you considered it vulgar," Christine mumbled, covering her face with the menu.

Erik wrested the menu from her hands. "Let´s be vulgar for a moment, then. First of all, we are subject to community property laws. It´s not _my _money, Christine, it´s _our_ money, and you have no idea how much of it there is, do you? You really do not have a clue…"

She reddened. "We´ve really never talked about it before…"

"My fault entirely." Erik rose and skirted the table until he stood beside her, an amused glint in his yellow eyes. He leaned down and whispered something in Christine´s ear.

"Oh, my God," she gasped, and watched, wide-eyed, as he returned to his chair with an air of satisfaction.

"I consider myself fortunate. A man in my situation can rarely claim to have a wife who loves him."


	12. Chapter 12

**My**** deepest gratitude to all those kind souls who have reviewed! **

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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"How ´re things coming along with Christine?" asked Ashley as she enjoyed a cigarette. She held it to her lips sensually, inhaling slowly, then released the smoke even more slowly. Her eyes remained fixed on Nadir, searching for a reaction, but her nicotine-soaked sexuality failed to stir him. He hid his revulsion carefully as he considered her question.

"She needs time," he answered, and he glanced around the room, trying not to look at Ashley. His eyes settled instead on the red velour sofa – _red! – _and the white, lacy cushions the woman had scattered around the room on the sofa, on the red velour armchairs, and even on a rocking-chair. It looked like a valentine greeting gone seriously wrong, he thought irritably. Ashley´s voice interrupted his reverie.

"She´ll like the way I´ve decorated, don´t you think?"

Nadir did not respond. He was tempted to be honest with her, to tell her what a nightmare the décor would represent for Christine. _Furniture the color of blood! _He had become familiar with Ashley´s way of thinking, however, and she clearly reasoned that, since Christine loved a man like Erik, she would find such colors and fabrics attractive. Plush reds, dark woods, red and gold wallpaper…it was all a poor attempt to emulate Erik.

Understanding Ashley was not nearly so pleasant as understanding Christine.

Why did Christine love Erik? Because she felt that he needed her, and she responded to that need. Nadir remembered his conversations with her. They had been much too brief, but he had turned every word over in his mind. When he had felt lonely, she had tried to fill in his loneliness, even if for a brief time. When he had felt misunderstood, she had offered him understanding. The woman seemed to exist to stanch open wounds, and Ashley had decorated the safe house with blood-red furnishings!

_Safe house. _The irony of the term tormented Nadir. Ashley´s sole purpose in acquiring this house in the middle of nowhere had been to trap Erik, and Christine was convenient to her purpose. Too convenient! For the thousandth time, Nadir cursed his role in this plot.

Ashley continued to look at him, and he moved towards the kitchen, uncomfortable. He surveyed the formica countertops and the linoleum floor – _plastic everything! – _and stilled, trying to identify the source of a vague, liquorish stench.

"What´s wrong?" Ashley had followed Nadir into the kitchen.

"The fruit here…" he responded, moving towards a bowl and picking up a brownish nectarine which dripped an equally brownish liquid, "is fermenting!"

Ashley shrugged. "So I´ll get more. It´s just for Christine, anyway. Pregnant women should eat lots of fruit, right?"

"Fresh fruit, not this garbage!" spat Nadir. "How long has this been here?"

"Three weeks maybe…"

"And you let it go bad? _You _never eat fruit?"

Ashley just looked at him, frowning, a hand on a hip. This was clearly not the conversation she wished to be having.

"Oh, _I know!" _sneered Nadir. "You eat diet _everything_! Crackers, frozen food, diet drinks! You would never think to pick up an apple and eat it – it is too simple for you! So you buy fruit for the first time in your life for Christine and you think it should keep forever, like those diet _chemicals_ you eat!"

"Careful, Nadir," said Ashley coolly. "Damian doesn´t need Christine alive, and I would be more than happy to see her dead and buried. What becomes of her _after _this is all over depends on how well you cooperate with me now. I know you don´t like me, but I really don´t want to be insulted by you."

Nadir stiffened. "Damian, Damian, _Damian_! Who is this Damian you keep talking about? Does he even exist?" He nearly added something more, but he checked himself.

Ashley laughed, but her eyes were cold. "You know very well he exists, thanks to your boss not knowing he exists! He was the only guy from Frontier 4 who survived him, you know. Did your boss tell you how many men he killed besides my Jack?"

"No. I was doing other things when he was…doing that," said Nadir.

"Hmpf. Well, Damian´s been in hiding ever since, but believe me, he exists. He´s the reason we´re doing all this!" She glanced over her shoulder distractedly, through the doorway to where the pc sat in a corner of the living room.

The sound of the front door opening and a murmur of voices heralded the return of Ashley´s _specialists. _Mark and Dylan were supposed to be experts in firearms and explosives, but for the moment they had very little to do. They spent most of their time gaming with their laptops, and Nadir could not understand half of the vocabulary in their conversations. _Critical hit? Killing blow? Corpse jumping? _He had the uneasy feeling that the two strapping young men were restless and spoiling for a fight. They were huge, they were muscular, and they were armed to the teeth – but were they ready to combat an opponent like Erik?

They were not. They needed Christine.

As if reading Nadir´s thoughts, Ashley returned to the subject of Christine.

"I´m getting tired of waiting for that woman to decide to come here on her own, you know. If you don´t find some way to convince her to come to us, Nadir, and come to us soon, we´ll take her ourselves, and you don´t want it done that way, do you?"

Nadir shuddered. "She will come! She will!"

"When?"

"By tomorrow evening."

* * *

"Interesting key signature," commented Christine, looking over Erik´s shoulder. He was five staves into his latest composition, and he had been working in a haphazard way, elaborating on a melody introduced at the beginning of the piece. He worked slowly yet fluidly, bar by bar, often backing up to play entire phrases on the piano.

He broke his concentration to look up at her. "G major. What could be simpler?"

"Oh, I wasn´t talking about how complicated or simple the key is – just that it´s major, not minor…"

Before she had known Erik, Christine had heard his name and his music. She had marvelled at the beauty and intricacy of the compositions attributed to _E. St. Amand_, as had every other student even remotely associated with the university´s Fine Arts program.

No one had ever guessed that the composer of these marvels was alive. Erik had perpetrated a fraud – one of many, some more innocent than others – and had secreted a false biography into his music, which was being "discovered" on a regular basis in odd, dusty corners of the city: _E. St. Amand (1911-1974) innovative modern composer, born in Montreal… _

There were several graduate students who had given themselves over completely to the enthusiastic study of the dead composer, and Erik especially enjoyed tormenting them. He had once placed a recently finished piano sonata of his at the bottom of a garbage bin filled with fish entrails from a nearby restaurant. He had then proceeded to send anonymous tips to two of the students. Several minutes later, passers-by were treated to a bizarre spectacle: two rather filthy young men had come to blows over who owned the rights to a container full of fish-guts.

Erik had created false census records, a false baptismal record, several records of marriages, at least three divorce decrees, and old records of delinquent bills. He made certain that much of the information he manufactured was in direct conflict with other, equally credible documentation, so that the arguments and speculation surrounding the deceased composer would never cease.

"You're a relative of the composer?" Christine had asked Erik shortly after she had been introduced to him.

"I am quite closely related," he had responded, and she had left it at that.

The truth had become apparent to Christine as she became Erik´s student and he admitted her gradually into his confidence. She had learned to fear him by then, and she knew better than to share his secret with anyone.

After her marriage to Erik, Christine had studied his progress as a composer for as far as he would permit. His earlier compositions had been dark, restless creations. She noticed that his work following their marriage had calmed into something more tranquil and contemplative. The vast majority of his work had been written in various minor keys, so that his music always seemed to have a plaintive, longing feeling to it.

His Muse had evidently changed her point of view lately, and now Erik´s pen produced soaring, nearly joyous melodies interspersed with soft lullabies. Today, he was penning something which took Christine´s breath away – _Happiness in G Major, _she called it to herself.

"You need to eat something," she told him now, and she set a sandwich on the piano, carefully placing a napkin under the plate. She was about to set a glass of juice near it, but Erik intercepted it quickly, draining it as he looked up at her.

Something in his eyes made Christine blush, but at the same time she was grateful that he was looking at her face. Her belly, now swollen, nearly touched his shoulder as she stood near him. She was seven months along, and she felt like a duck.

"Why don´t you use the pc when you work?" she asked, hoping to dispel her self-consciousness. "You always have to transcribe your work so that it´s on the hard disk anyway."

"This is the way I wish to work," said Erik quietly. "Besides, my graduate students need something on paper, written by hand. You will remember that I died in 1974, long before modern printers emerged."

"Oh, dear," said Christine, laughing. "Where are they going to _discover_ this piece? At the municipal dump?"

"If you wish. I could arrange to have a seagull make off with it. That would provide some healthy exercise for those students. Lord knows they need it – they have become rather soft around the middle lately."

Christine laughed again, and the baby responded by moving about and kicking. She reached for the empty juice glass, ready to take it to the kitchen, but Erik stopped her and pulled her gently towards him so that she was seated on his lap. "Where do you think you´re going?"

"You still haven´t eaten your sandwich," she protested, and he merely chuckled as he held her, his chin resting on her head.

The peace, happiness, and affection which now reigned between them were the culmination of those first timid, vulnerable caresses only weeks ago. _Baby steps. And now, finally, we're dancing. _

"Now, you will be glad you are here with me, because I am about to reward you with a bit of intrigue."

"Intrigue?" murmured Christine, lulled by the way his voice vibrated against her deep in his chest.

"One might call it that. You will remember those hapless students…"

"The ones researching the late E. St. Amand?"

"The same. It seems that Mr. St. Amand has developed a gravesite…"

"Erik! Now, that´s terrible!"

"…and it has a rather deep sinkhole, right in the middle, which is camouflaged by weeds."

"Someone could get hurt!"

"Not to worry, my dear. Any person who happens to fall through will land on the nice, soft bed of cow manure at the bottom of the pit."

* * *

Christine watched as Raoul packed his suitcase. Nadir sat in the corner, mute, dark, and pensive. They ignored him – they had become accustomed to his baleful presence long ago, and it had ceased to matter.

"I´m really sorry you´re leaving, Raoul," she said softly.

He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled, then smiled over at her. "Yeah, I kind of am, too. We really had a good time together, in the end, didn´t we?"

It was true. Once the initial shock of Angela´s arrival had worn off, she and Raoul had talked -- and talked some more, and had finally ended up checking into the most luxurious hotel in the city. During the weeks afterward, they had basked in the glow of their renewed relationship, holding hands as they accompanied Meg, Ashley, and Christine shopping and sightseeing.

At first, Christine had been nonplussed by this situation, but Angela at Leisure was clearly a different person from Angela at Work – she was warm, she was fun, and she was even _kind_. She could suddenly understand why Raoul cared for her.

She had been especially grateful when, much to her surprise, Angela had effectively parried Ashley´s constant criticism of Erik, finally turning on her heel and snarling at her, "I hear your husband was a real winner! What would _you_ know about men? Leave her alone!"

Ashley had been livid, but she had been silent on the subject of Erik thereafter. Raoul had miraculously ceased to worry about Christine when Angela arrived, and all would have been well for Christine´s peace of mind if it had not been for Nadir, who initiated impromptu conversations with her whenever he could. They always ended with some reference to Erik´s bloodthirsty nature and an offer of help for whenever she chose to leave her husband.

"Listen, you´ll be okay, won't you?" Raoul´s voice interrupted her thoughts. He was looking at her attentively for perhaps the first time since Angela had come, his blue eyes filled with concern.

"I´ve been trying to tell you I´ll be okay for weeks!" said Christine, smiling. "Will you finally believe me?"

From his corner, Nadir sighed loudly, and Christine bristled but remained polite.

"Could I get you something, Nadir? Would you like another sandwich?"

"No," answered Nadir, "but I would like you to know what I am thinking of your husband."

"Oh, please," Christine groaned, "not now!"

"Yeah," added Raoul, as he put his last pair of socks into the suitcase. "Why are you banging away about her husband, dude? Can´t you see she´s happy with him now?"

Nadir´s glare seemed to burn into Raoul. "You have your woman, and you are forgetting Christine now. You forget her husband almost killed you. He could do the same to her, and you know it."

"No, he _doesn´t_ know it, because it isn´t so!" cried Christine, exasperated. "Raoul, don´t listen to him!"

"Do not worry. He will not listen to me, Christine," said Nadir with a touch of bitterness. "He knows he is in danger if you leave your husband."

"Now, that´s not fair!" exploded Raoul, turning toward Nadir.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Meg, entering the room and gesturing at the men to stop. "Could we have a little peace here? After all, we´re here to say goodbye to our old buddy Raoul. Raoul, you´ve been one helluva house guest!" she said, turning to Raoul to give him a quick bear hug.

"Um…thanks," said Raoul, and as the two said their goodbyes, Christine avoided Nadir´s implacable gaze.

* * *

_Well, that´s goodbye to Raoul for a while. He and Angela will be leaving so late tonight! It´s funny – I´ll miss them both. Who would have believed…?_

Christine moved down from the garage to the house, hanging her purse and keys on the rack in the entryway, and she went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

No sign of Erik. Months ago, she had been too intimidated by him to be bothered by the fact that he never told her where he was going or what he was doing; now that they were intimate, now that they were truly lovers, it bothered her. She sipped her tea, mulling over how to broach the subject to him.

"Christine?" It was Nadir; she nearly dropped her cup.

"Oh, my God!" she gasped. "What are you doing here? Didn´t Erik tell you --?"

"I have to talk to you, Christine. I have to," said Nadir, his tones pleading. "_Why _can´t you see that you cannot continue this way? It will be much harder for you once the baby is born."

"It won´t be harder. Erik will arrange help…"

"That´s not what I mean! It will be harder for you to leave your husband once your baby is born!"

"I´m not leaving him, Nadir!" she said. "Please don´t ask me to. I can´t take this – I can´t take this betrayal of Erik anymore! I´ve been protecting you – I´ve been _protecting_ you, Nadir! I haven´t told Erik what you´ve been saying – not a word of it! So, stop, please? Would you just…stop?" She had started to cry now, and she pressed her hands together, willing Nadir to go away. _If Erik were to come through that door…_

He started towards her as though ready to embrace her, but she skittered away. "No…stay over there!"

He stopped, but he stood his ground, watching her intensely. "He's kind to you now because you are pregnant. What will become of you when the child is here?"

Christine shook her head and extended her arm stiffly, her palm facing him. _Stop!_

"He is a murderer, Christine…he is a murderer many times over. What can such a man have in his heart?"

There was a sudden draft, and Christine´s breath caught. _3…2…1…_

"I believe I told you not to approach my wife," Erik said quietly. His tall figure framed the doorway in a seemingly relaxed, even lazy stance, but Christine was not taken in. She had not heard such steel underlying his tones for weeks, and she was startled. It had been so easy to forget!

"He was just going, Erik," Christine interjected hastily. "You see, Raoul and Angela are leaving, so Nadir won´t need to chaperone me any more. I guess this is goodbye – he was just saying goodbye!"

Erik´s gaze turned from its icy examination of Nadir to Christine, softening visibly as it settled on her, in spite of the mask.

"Yes," he murmured finally. "I think it _is _goodbye."

* * *

_Nadir Karrubi? I merely spoke with him in my study and dismissed him, Christine. _

Her relief at hearing those words had been immeasurable. Later, she would turn them over in her mind until they burned.

They made love, spooned carefully together, and Erik brushed her hair aside to kiss the back of her neck. His lips were soft, but his whiskers scraped her skin, and she smiled into the darkness.

* * *

_4 am. _Erik´s side of the bed was empty.

Christine felt the sheets – no longer warm. He had been gone from the bed for some time already. She sighed and looked up at the skylight, where silvery cirrus clouds glided across a distant half-moon, now covering it, now uncovering it. _Like the hands of a magician…_

She turned on the lamp on the bedside table, and a fly buzzed into sudden frenetic activity, bumping and careering around the room. She raked her fingers through her hair, trying to shake off her sleepiness as she sat at the edge of the bed. She pushed her feet into her slippers lazily. _Blue satin slippers. Blue satin nightgown, maternity style. When you´re rich, you get to have things that match. _She thought back to the days before Erik, when she had slept in old T-shirts and underwear, and her slippers had been brown, terrycloth, and stitched together on one side.

She crossed the room and peeked out into the hallway. The nightlights near the baseboard glowed, but there was no other light illuminating anything, except…

_A faint glow from his laboratory. _Its door was ajar. As if on cue, the fly which had been bouncing about the bedroom now zoomed past Christine´s head and headed down the hallway, disappearing into the laboratory.

"Erik?" Her skin felt suddenly cold and clammy. _This situation – so familiar! But I´m being a fool…_

She padded slowly down the hallway. All was silent.

"Erik? Where are you?" Her voice was thin and childish, and it disappeared without an echo.

No answer.

As she neared the laboratory, she could hear the buzzing of several flies; at the same time, she detected a stench – something rancid, of bowel, of urine, and of…_No!_

She pushed open the door, and the stench overpowered her. Her pulse was roaring through her head, and several seconds passed before she could bear to look into the room.

_No!_

The figure on the stainless steel counter. The white sheet which covered his form. The only difference now was that the sheet bore red stains. Several flies had collected on the stains; several more were flying about the room drunkenly. _Flies? Where did they come from? The vents? _Her mind was starting to clear, and Christine breathed deeply, her hand over her nose. She approached the sheeted figure, standing beside it uncertainly, then grasped at the edge of the sheet, her eyes closed. She half expected to see Jack´s body again when she opened her eyes, and for everything to congeal into a nightmare from which she could awaken. She saw who lay beneath the sheet, however, and she knew that she was not dreaming.

It was Nadir.

His eyes were shut – _Thank God! – _but his face was bruised and bloodied, and his nose was a gelatinous mess, swollen and blackened.

Christine had seen enough. She dropped the sheet and ran from the room, her stomach twisted by nausea at the stench, but more especially by the nausea of this sudden hell. She managed not to vomit – she did not even retch. She breathed deeply as she slipped quietly back into her bedroom, thinking of the scenario she had rehearsed to herself so many times, back in the not-so-distant days when she had thought of leaving Erik.

Later, she would not even remember how she managed to locate her cell phone so quickly.

She closed her eyes, grasped her medal, and prayed. _One ring…now two rings…now –_

"Yeah?" Ashley´s voice, thick with sleep, greeted her.


	13. Chapter 13

**Hugs to all those kind readers who have taken the time and trouble to review!**

**I hope this chapter won´t disappoint. It was difficult to write, and I´m afraid Erik does not appear in it. He will not remain absent much longer, though!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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_Why did you do this to us? __ How could you do this to us? Why? Why? Why...?_

Christine felt a dull type of satisfaction at filling out an entire sheet of notebook paper with the word. It repeated itself over and over again in her head, and she had the vague notion that by setting it onto paper, she might exorcise it from her thoughts. Sleep was impossible, after all, in spite of how tired she felt.

She had not had time to shower before she had collected her overnight bag and fled the house. She still could smell Erik on her skin, and she could nearly feel his fingers upon her. The baby moved within her, delivering a particularly spirited kick, and she shook her head in an effort to clear her thoughts.

_A shower. That´s what I need. _ Christine moved slowly up from the bed, leaving her stationery on the pillow. It was a little girl´s bed, with white wooden posts supporting a pink canopy. The canopy unnerved her and made her feel as though something was hovering over her; the mattress was too soft, and lying on it left her with the impression that something was trying to swallow her and not succeeding very well. A white princess style dresser and white bedside tables completed the furniture ensemble. Christine sensed the ridiculousness of her surroundings as she looked at herself in the mirror. On a sticker someone had left on the mirror, Daisy Duck simpered, her eyes peeking out in virginal coquetry from under her long lashes. Christine followed her gaze to the reflection of her own pregnant belly in the mirror.

No cell phone. Nothing to tip Erik off. In her bag there was little indeed – money, several changes of clothes, and credit cards she would never use again. As she rummaged through her overnight bag, Christine wondered idly where Erik had gone after leaving Nadir´s body in the lab. She was certain that he had not expected her to awaken.

She was also certain that he had lied to her – he had killed Nadir, then he had told her that he had dismissed him. So simple. Nadir´s sudden absence would have been ascribed to his having been fired by Erik, and life would have continued. So would the lie.

She finished showering – _pink towels, tears, incoherent pleas, scrubbing, retching, and a pounding headache_ -- and she moved sluggishly out of the bathroom after about an hour. Her eyes were puffy, but she had calmed. There was lead in her stomach and lead in her limbs.

There was a knock at her door.

"Christine? Come out and see who´s here!" It was Ashley.

Christine checked herself in the mirror – _I look like the dog´s dinner, but it can´t be helped – _duly gave up on her appearance, and left the bedroom.

She paused as she heard a familiar voice in the living room. _Raoul! _She hurried in to see him seated on the sofa with Angela.

"We have jobs, you know. How long will we have to stay here?" Angela was saying, looking at the furnishings with patent distaste.

"_You _don´t have to stay here at all, honey," Ashley told her. "It´s your boyfriend´s neck on the line now that Christine´s left him."

"Raoul…I´m so sorry," interrupted Christine, and Raoul and Angela looked up at her ruefully. "I´m so glad you´re safe! Ashley _told_ me she´d take care of your safety." She turned to Ashley. "Thank you so much for doing this! I was so worried about him. How did you get them to come back so fast?"

"We never left town," said Angela brusquely, before Ashley could answer. "Somebody torched our car."

There was a silence.

"Oh, my God," said Christine said in hushed tones. "I…I´m really sorry, Raoul."

"Yeah, me, too," he said glumly. "We went down this morning, ready to drive home – we were supposed to hit the road last night, but we got delayed..." He directed a significant glance at Ashley, who grinned at him, then stifled the grin suddenly and looked down at her lap. "…Anyhow, there it was: my Mercedes! A burned-out shell in the middle of a busy parking lot. And not one witness. I´m not sure that insurance will pay for this…"

"They´ll pay. I´ll work something out," said Angela, tapping her fingers against the sofa cushion restlessly.

"If it hadn´t taken you so long to get ready, maybe we would have been on time to stop whoever terminated the car!" commented Raoul irritably.

"Now, Raoul, that just isn´t fair!" protested Angela. "And if it was who we think it was, then you would have been in trouble…"

"Sorry," interjected Christine miserably, "I´m so sorry…"

She dropped into an armchair, her head in her hands. _So soon, Erik?_

Yet she knew that if Erik had truly meant to kill him, Raoul would not be sitting across the living room from her now.

"As soon as we discovered the car, Ashley called us with news of what was going on with Christine," added Angela, "and then we knew what had happened. What I don´t understand is why we don´t call the cops."

Ashley, who was lighting a cigarette, seemed to start momentarily, and she dropped her lighter. "No way we´re calling the cops! Erik St. Amand clearly has them in his pocket, and they´d give him the location of this house in a minute."

There was a silence. Christine had put off the sharp, agonizing pain of _ending it all, _distracted as she was by the conversation,but now it came back full-force. Raoul´s presence seemed a living reproach to her now, and guilt began to stir – and, with it, its sister-feeling, regret.

_What if I just gave up? What if I just went back to Erik, no matter what he´s done? Raoul could go back to his life, and I could learn to live with…everything. _She felt tired.

"The burned car was a warning, and it was intended for me," said Christine, finally. "I can´t force you into hiding this way, Raoul. I …I need to go back to Erik. Maybe we could talk…"

"_No!" _exclaimed Ashley so forcefully that everyone in the room gaped at her. "No," she added, more softly now, "What are you going to accomplish talking with a murderer, Christine? Nothing! He knew how you felt, and he went and murdered poor old Nadir!"

"Christine, I don´t want you to go back to him – not if he´s really killed someone again, and it looks like he has," added Raoul. "I don´t want to be used this way, as a way of blackmailing you! I want you to be free."

"_This _is _free_?" asked Christine, indicating the house. "We´re here as if in a cage…"

"Listen, honey, it´s not the Taj Mahal, but it´s all I could offer you on short notice. It´s way out in the middle of nowhere, and the family who lived here before sold it to me with the furnishings. Their names are still on the mailbox, and their nearest neighbors still think they live here. It´s the perfect safe house!"

"You _bought _this place?" Christine asked.

"Yeah, I thought it was a good investment. Then your little problem came up, and I thought, 'Hey, why not help out Christine?' So here we are. I think I told you that I came into a little windfall after Jack died. He had a nice little life insurance policy."

"I see. I was wondering…"

"You were wondering how it is I don´t have a steady job? Let´s just say that I´m a woman of independent means," said Ashley, smirking. She exhaled, clearly enjoying her cigarette. Christine thought of her baby and shifted in her chair uncomfortably.

"I´m glad that Jack was finally good for _something,_" she continued. "Hell, he´s been much better for me dead than he ever was alive! Oh, don´t look so shocked!" She directed this last imperative at Raoul. "You men are all the same. You wouldn´t have believed how much I loved that son of a bitch! Didn´t matter to him, though…"

Ashley took another puff, staring off into space, unblinking, bitter, and pensive. Smoke enveloped her. Another puff, and she turned her stare on Christine. Something in the gaze chilled the younger woman, and she shuddered slightly.

Ashley smiled, but the smile did not reach her eyes. "What´s the matter, Christine? Someone walk over your grave?"

* * *

That night, sleep came to Christine twenty minutes at a time, alternating with panicked awakenings and the feeling that she was falling into something dark and endless. The routine was familiar – she had experienced this torment after her father´s death, but her marriage to Erik had ended it. Cold, aloof, silent, _gentle _during lovemaking – she had not known what to make of him those first nights together, but somehow she had slept well beside him. She had never felt so protected in her life.

And now? She wondered whether she had ever understood Erik at all. Perhaps Ashley was right. Perhaps there was something so fundamentally _missing_ in the psyche of a man who had killed so many times that noble feelings – _like love! – _were out of the question. The closeness she had felt with him lately, every bit of progress they had made as a couple, had been an illusion. Or had it? Every instinct within her, deep down, refused to believe this.

The dark silence hovering over her small, borrowed bed was oppressive. How different one silence could be from another! When she thought of silence, she thought of Erik – to be brutally honest, when she thought of nearly anything, she thought of Erik. Yet silence was such an integral part of Erik´s being. His silence as he watched her, his silence as he moved, his silence as he held her. She had often wanted words from him, but she realized now that his silences had meant more.

The abrupt separation from him – was this the final silence? She thought of Nadir's bloodied form under the sheet for the thousandth time.

The baby stirred. Christine groaned, punched her pillow, and gave up on sleep. _4 am – again. Twenty-four hours have passed since everything collapsed. _

She rose and opened the bedroom door quietly. Her admiration for Erik´s grace and stealth had caused her to emulate him unconsciously, and now her footsteps were silent. She peered out into the hallway. Light was streaming from the living room, and she could hear the tapping of a keyboard; Ashley was on her laptop. Did the woman ever sleep? She seemed to be in conversation with someone in the kitchen as she worked.

"Don´t worry. It won´t be much longer, and you´ll have your new identity, a tidy sum of money, and you´ll be flying home with Christine. I wonder how the bitch´ll look in a chador?" A nasty chuckle.

Ice water flowed through Christine´s veins suddenly. She waited, listening.

"Watch what you call her!" _That voice…that soft accent…! _"I worry about you. Too many thoughts of Christine and your dead husband! You are not cool, not cool at all, and you should not lose your head. Maybe you will hurt Christine before this is over? If you betray me, you will pay, and you know it!"

"Calm yourself, Nadir. Geez, you guys tire me out! As if it wasn´t bad enough having Jack thinking that Christine was the Virgin Mary. God, I got sick of hearing him talk about her. He was so smitten with her, the asshole, just because he couldn´t get her into the sack! And now I get to hear _you _putting her on a pedestal! Hurt her? You make me want to kill her. Oh, don´t put on that face! I don´t want to kill her anymore. Damian wants his bait unharmed, and I can´t ever cross him.

"Not that I´m not tempted to! You shoulda seen Christine this morning!" Ashley´s voice went into a high, mincing, derisive soprano – "`Oh, thank you so much for saving my life and Raoul´s, Ashley, I know it´s been such a _bother_!'" Her voice returned to its usual smoker´s contralto now. "I mean, _what an idiot! _Who does she take me for, Glinda, the Good Witch of the North? And you should have seen her when I lit up a cig. She´s sitting there, right? And it really bothers her, right? But she´s such a _wimp _that she just sits there and takes it without saying anything. I swear I hate that bitch! She thinks that if she floats around being nice to everybody, that all the fairies, gnomes and sweet little animals from the forest will come and protect her! I´m so sick of being _nice _to that little wimp! I nearly lost it this morning – I think I scared her for a second there." A dry chuckle.

As she listened from the shadows in the hallway, Christine´s mouth went gradually dry – the blood coursed through her now, and her knees felt weak.

Nadir came out of the kitchen to stand over Ashley. Christine was positioned so that she could see Ashley´s back, but she drew back as Nadir came into view, frightened that he might see her. She went slightly off balance and her hand hit the wall with a dull _thump _as she sought to support herself against it.

Both Ashley and Nadir turned rapidly and looked at her.

Ashley smiled slowly. "So much for keeping your involvement hidden, eh, Nadir?"

Nadir had paled visibly.

"Christine…"

"How _could _you?" Christine gasped. She was hyperventilating; the air around her seemed to be disintegrating into a type of grey static. Nadir approached quickly and helped her into a chair.

"It is not what you think…" Nadir said quietly.

Christine sat in the chair, still hyperventilating. She was relieved when the baby moved, oblivious to the upheaval affecting her.

"Hell, yeah, it´s what she thinks," said Ashley recklessly. "We did a pretty good job of fixing Nadir up to look like a really, really dead guy, didn´t we, Christine? I mean, when I go to so much trouble to do something, I like to hear what people think of my efforts. Not that the trick was my idea – it was all Nadir´s! He didn´t want us to kill him for real, I guess…"

"Where´s Erik?" Christine hissed, recovering herself.

"He would be at home now, I think," said Nadir.

"He killed no one, he did nothing…and I left…" said Christine, her voice trembling with the enormity of the discovery.

"Well, if he killed Nadir here, the guy sure made a quick recovery!" sneered Ashley, opening a bottle of beer and taking a swallow. "Look, honey, you have to give Nadir credit for the way he managed things. He sent your husband off on a false emergency, and all he had to do was fix himself up and wait for you to find him. You have to hand it to him – he used pig intestines and blood from a slaughterhouse to give himself a distinctive aroma! Now, _I _did his face, and the flies were my idea…after all, he´s a _fly guy_!"

"They were a _stupid _idea!" snapped Nadir, rounding on Ashley. "Shut up!"

"I…need to go home," said Christine hurriedly. She got up, surprised that her legs could support her. Her knees still shook, and she had only taken a few feet before Ashley strode towards her and pulled her roughly backwards by her arm.

"You _are _an idiot!" she said through her teeth, which were clenched with rage. "You still don´t get it, do you? So now it´s time for me to spell it out for you, right?"

She did not release her purchase on Christine´s arm until Nadir wrenched her hand away roughly. Ashley laughed, an ugly laugh, as Nadir guided Christine back to the armchair, distancing her from Ashley.

"You must stay here, Christine," he said apologetically.

"Another Romeo who thinks you´re Juliet. You seem to collect them, don´t you?" said Ashley with a scornful smile. "I hope you enjoy spending time with this one as much as you enjoyed fooling around with my husband." Her voice had become quiet, icy.

"I did _not _'fool around' with Jack!" snapped Christine. Her angry demeanor was a cover; she was watching Ashley now as a mouse watches a snake.

"I guess you didn´t really _fool around_ with him, technically," said Ashley, seemingly thoughtful. "That´s what really got him going about you – you didn´t give in to him. You must have been the first woman he failed to bed since he was twelve!"

"Jack never tried to bed me!" growled Christine. "It was never like that! We were nothing more than friends – well, I _thought _we were friends…and he was dating Meg! If she had known he was married…"

"He dated Meg to get close to you. He got close to you to get the goods on your husband. Well, he failed on that last count," Ashley replied. "Still, I got sick of hearing about how perfect you were. The shithead was smitten with you."

There was a silence during which Christine digested all that Ashley was saying, mortified. Ashley stared at her, her hatred undisguised now.

Nadir offered Christine a bottle of water, and she accepted it absently, without a word to him. He stood behind her chair, looking down at her with obvious concern, but he was silent.

"I thought Jack was my _friend_, Ashley, and that´s the honest truth. Nobody knew he had a wife!"

"Least of all him!" spat Ashley. "I was supposed to be the good wife and stay at home, waiting, ready to help with Jack´s plans when he needed me while he ran around with…whoever. There he was, all excited about those frickin' skin grafts, thinking of the money to be made with that, and he completely missed the most important discovery Erik St. Amand had made. He was such a shit-for-brains!"

Christine waited expectantly. Somehow, she had completely recovered her calm. She felt numb, as though she were experiencing the conversation within someone else.

Ashley took another swig of beer. "Such an idiot, that Jack! Nobody had counted on me, though – not Jack, not anybody, not even Damian, if that´s really his name. No, no one was counting on old Ashley. I´m no slacker, though. Did you know I have a Master´s in biochem? Of course you don´t. Well, I also happen to be really observant, and one night, Jack came home drunk…" Ashley looked dully ahead into space as she remembered, and Christine realized that the beer she was drinking was not her first. "…At least, I thought he was drunk. He was talking. A lot. It seems Erik St. Amand was not happy with his little friendship with his wife, and he had trapped him in the lab, injected him with something, and interrogated him. And Jack, who never in his life told the truth to anyone, suddenly told his boss the truth about everything he wanted to know. Boy, did Jack sing! He told St. Amand that he wanted info on his research, and that he was trying to see if getting close to his wife would help him in some way. Of course, St. Amand wanted to know what Jack was planning with his wife. 'Nothing!' the wuss said to him. 'She acts like I´m a eunuch or something!'" Well, that made Erik St. Amand so happy that he left him alive, threw him out of the lab and told him never to come back."

Ashley finished her beer and stared vacantly at the empty bottle as she moved it from one hand to the other. She laughed bitterly.

"So, Jack came home in a talkative mood to say the least. He told me about everything he was doing – all the different affairs he´d been having, up to the one with Meg. He had his sights set on St. Amand´s wife. She was _special. _She refused to go to bed with him – and he wanted her because of that, but he wanted her so he could take her husband´s ego down a peg or two. Right in front of me, Jack started planning that crazy scheme to kidnap his boss´s wife. Did he think I was going to help him?

"He had no idea that I was thinking of something completely different. As he talked and talked, I realized what St. Amand´s little injection had done to him, and what the potential for such a drug could be. I said nothing to Jack, though. The idiot had his head so far up his ass that he completely missed it all."

Ashley fell silent, still contemplating the empty bottle, and Christine dared a question.

"You´re telling me that Erik injected Jack with some sort of a truth serum?"

"Boy, you don´t miss a thing, do you?" snarled Ashley in response. "Do you have any idea what the market potential is for a truth serum that _works_? Ever heard of the CIA Project MK-ULTRA, Christine?"

Christine shook her head.

"Of course not – I forget! You´re so dense that your husband never tells you anything. The CIA was so crazy to come up with an effective truth serum that it tested a bunch of drugs on different people, then interrogated them. This was in the '50´s and '60´s, you know. One of the subjects died. They´d given him LSD."

"You´re _not_ with the CIA!" Christine interjected. Her mind was working furiously – all the implications of what Erik had discovered – _a truth serum? _– presented themselves, one after the other, in a never-ending parade. Yet, was this the truth? She had often doubted Ashley´s sanity, and she wondered whether outrageous lies were a symptom of her pathology.

"No shit!" Ashley responded impatiently. "I´m telling you that there are several entities that might be willing to bid for something that helps out with interrogation techniques, something that´s better than sodium pentothal, that actually _works _– and from what we know of your husband´s track record, this stuff really works."

"I can´t _believe_ this!" said Christine.

Nadir cleared his throat. "I think I mentioned Frontier 4´s interest in this to you, Christine…"

"Frontier 4? Those idiots are history. St. Amand killed them all, though nobody could prove it. He started with my husband, and he killed every last one of them except Damian, who´s working with me now. He´s the one with the knowledge and connections to make our plan work, and that´s where you come in, Christine."

"I´m bait," said Christine miserably, "and you were setting a trap for me the whole time. And you helped her do this," she added, this time to Nadir, who looked uncomfortable.

"So, finally, she´s learned something!" announced Ashley.

"Look, Ashley," said Christine, "If Erik had come up with something as extravagant as you describe, he would have patented it and sold it by now!"

"Just how well do you know your husband, Christine?" asked Ashley derisively.

"You´re crazy, and I´m leaving!" Christine spat, and she turned to Nadir. "You have to help me, Nadir. I can´t believe you would do this to me. This is a joke, right? Some sort of a joke! Your playing dead, this business with a _truth serum…"_

"I wish it were so, Christine," said Nadir, and he looked miserable. "But I tell you that you cannot leave. There is no choice."

Ashley went to the front door and opened it, beckoning to someone. Dylan appeared and stood at the entrance, and Christine realized with a jolt that he was equipped with a sidearm.

"I´m sorry, Christine," said Ashley, "I´ve been very rude. I´d like you to meet Dylan. He´s one of your babysitters. He and Mark will make sure that you, Raoul and Angela behave."

Dylan nodded at Christine amiably, popped his gum, and at a word from Ashley, went outside again.

"Well, it´s no use keeping Raoul and Angela here," said Christine.

"Oh, they´re very useful! If you try anything, Christine, then you´ll have to worry about your dear friend Raoul, now, won´t you? I´m not so sure you´re so fond of Angela, though. I´m in agreement with you about her, you know. I don´t care for her at all. Not at all."

* * *

Alone in her room, Christine paced. It was nearly dawn now, and ideas chased each other through her mind.

_A trap for Erik, and I´m the bait. All because I didn´t wait before I ran. All because I didn´t talk with him. _

Was Ashley calling him now with news of where his wife was? Or would Damian be the one to do that? She could imagine the kind of language they might use. _Your wife is fine, and if you want her to remain alive, then…_

_I can´t let this happen!_

She went to the bathroom and looked through the medicine cabinet. _Bandages, mouthwash, iodine…_

Minutes later, she had created an iodine-tinged puddle of water on the floor. She bathed the insides of her legs with the liquid, and created a trail to the door.

She opened the door and glanced outside. Nadir was pacing just outside, his face haggard.

"Nadir!" she rasped, hoping she sounded convincing. She was perspiring; that would help. "You have to help me! I just broke water, and now I´m having contractions!"


	14. Chapter 14

**Many thanks to all those who have reviewed! I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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* * *

  
**

Christine leaned against the doorframe, and she appeared to be having trouble supporting herself.

"Please, Nadir…" she began, and some overwhelming force seemed to cut her off. She was breathing erratically.

"This is _not_ happening!" Nadir howled, and Christine watched, amazed, as his face went gray with panic. He started tearing at his hair with both hands. "No! No! _No!"_

Christine continued her ruse, happy with the progress she had made. Doors started to open throughout the rest of the house, and she could hear indistinct voices.

"What the _hell_…?" Ashley drawled, her voice heavy with sleep. She appeared at the end of the hallway, wearing a red Chinese silk bathrobe. She braced herself against the wall and rubbed her face with her hand.

"Christine is losing the baby!" said Nadir, his voice clearly indicating that he was on the edge of hysterics. He continued to tear at his hair, his eyes wide, and he suddenly gripped his left wrist with his right hand and looked at his watch. "It´s eight in the morning!" he muttered to himself.

"The hell she's losing the baby! She´s just acting!" snarled Ashley, and she moved closer to Christine´s doorway to observe her.

Christine ignored her and continued her breathing, then stepped in front of the trail of brownish liquid she had created as if she wanted to hide it.

Ashley peered down at the area near Christine´s feet and hesitated, then indicated the mess on the bedroom floor with an index finger. "What´s that?"

"What do you _think _it is?" moaned Nadir, and Christine continued puffing, perspiring, and ignoring Ashley.

Ashley fidgeted with the sash of her bathrobe, pulling it tighter. She bit her lower lip and continued to stare at Christine with eyes that betrayed sudden doubts.

Dylan appeared behind Ashley, craning his neck to see around her. His jaws were moving lazily, chewing gum, but they stopped completely and his eyes widened as he took in Christine. He backed off a few paces, clearly frightened.

Christine moaned slightly to heighten the effect of her drama, encouraged by the sudden realization that, to every person in the house but herself, a pregnant woman was a complete and frightening novelty, filled with all kinds of gory possibilities.

"You´d better tell Damian about this!" said Nadir, recovering slightly from his panic.

"Can´t," said Ashley. "He won´t be in touch until tonight."

"Oh, my God!" said Nadir. "I need a phone. You must have a phone I can use, then! At least give me back my cell phone!"

"Shut up!" snapped Ashley. "I won´t have anyone in this house using a cell. Too easy to track people with…"

"I have to call the doctor… or the hospital!" insisted Nadir.

Ashley stared at Christine, clearly contemplating her options. Christine, who had let a large quantity of saliva collect in her mouth, now started to drool and make retching noises.

"Oh. Jesus! This is disgusting! I´m outta here," said Dylan.

"Not so fast!" said Ashley, turning to grip him by a well-muscled arm. "Nothing is going to work out if something happens to St. Amand´s wife or baby. Damian wants them intact for his bargaining. You´ll have to take her to the hospital."

"_What?" _Christine heard Dylan gulp, and she was certain he had swallowed his gum.

"You heard me! You and Mark both. You take her to the hospital and make sure she doesn´t try anything!"

Dylan turned his gaze onto Christine again. He had completely lost the air of too-worldly ennui he usually cultivated. "Shit! You can´t make me deal with _that!"_

"Dylan!" Ashley grated out through clenched teeth. "You are an arms and explosives expert. Surely you have no trouble with the simple challenge of taking a pregnant woman to a hospital!"

"I can shoot her if you want," he said hopefully.

Nadir screamed. "You _cannot _put that imbecile in charge of her! You _cannot…!"_

"_You´ll _be in charge of her, then," said Ashley, turning on Nadir fiercely. "But just one step out of line, and you know what will happen to you. Mark will go with you, and you´ll remember that he´s armed."

"Fine!" snapped Nadir. He set about getting a coat for Christine, and he draped it over her.

Ashley gave Christine one last penetrating look before she turned and left, moving with decisive steps towards the other side of the house.

Christine searched the living room for something – _anything _– that she could use as a weapon. Her eye fell on an umbrella stand, and she picked an umbrella out of it as Nadir opened the door for her.

As she went puffing out the door with Nadir holding her elbow, she heard Raoul´s voice near the kitchen. "Hey! Has anyone seen my cell phone?"

_He doesn´t know he´s a prisoner here yet! _

_

* * *

  
_

In the back seat of Nadir´s car, Christine glanced surreptitiously at Mark, trying to assess him. He could easily have been Dylan´s brother – he had the same large frame, the same too-heavy musculature which bespoke countless hours spent at the gym. He was more stolid than Dylan, though, and he had not even blinked when he had seen Christine and taken in her condition. He was wearing a bulky leather jacket, and she knew that there was some type of handgun concealed beneath it. He seated himself behind the wheel of the car now, but before he started the car he turned to address Christine.

"Just so you won´t be getting any ideas, you´ll behave yourself while we go to visit the nice doctor, okay? If you say one word to anyone about your little problem with us, then I´ll let Ashley know, and your friend Ralph will face the consequences, you hear?" This was delivered by Mark in a flat monotone as he pulled onto the highway.

Christine´s heart sank, but her mind raced. She clutched her umbrella tightly and continued to hyperventilate. She bent forward slightly as if in pain, and Nadir watched her with concern from his position beside her in the back of the car.

_I can´t bludgeon Mark with the umbrella…he´s driving right now; I can´t hit Nadir with it and accomplish anything; I´ll have to wait until we reach the hospital and see what opportunities might come. _

Ashley´s "safe house" was so far out in the country that the nearest hospital was over an hour away.

Nadir, who had been silent and nervous during the entire trip, nearly leaped out of the car once they had entered the driveway to the emergency room. He moved to Christine´s side to help her out, but Mark stopped him.

"You can park the car now. I´ll go in with her," he said. He reached into the car and pulled Christine out somewhat roughly.

"_I_ can go in with her!" Nadir protested. "You are a brute, and I do not care for the way you are handling her."

"Don´t worry. I´m not going to beat up a pregnant woman at a hospital. Park the car. Now!" snapped Mark, gripping Christine´s left elbow with slightly too much force.

Christine stopped hyperventilating and swung the umbrella with as much force as she could muster. As it connected with Mark´s forehead and right cheek, she extricated her left arm from his unwelcome grip.

"_Shit!_" he roared, and Nadir was unable to stifle a laugh.

"So, if the pregnant woman beats _you _up –" Nadir started, but Christine's umbrella cut him off, hitting him on the chin; he was somewhat taller than Mark.

"That´s it, bitch!" snarled Mark, and he moved quickly, pinning Christine´s arms behind her back. He gave one of her hands a quick twist as he did this, and she shrieked and resumed her labored breathing.

"_What _are you doing?" came a masculine voice, and Mark let go of Christine hurriedly. An elderly man had emerged from the waiting room and was eyeing Mark with a type of latent anger. Nadir glanced at the windows and noticed the vague outlines of people watching them.

"Nothing – nothing, sir," said Mark, with a deference which disgusted Christine after his display of bullying.

"Coward!" gasped Christine, still careful to continue with her theatrics.

"Didn´t look like nothing to me. It looked like you were hurting the little lady. Now, you listen to me! I got no patience with punks like you who pick on people that´s smaller than them, and that goes double for ladies…"

Two other men emerged from the hospital entrance, and they hung back, slightly behind the man speaking with Mark. Their eyes were vigilant, and it was clear that they would be more than happy for an excuse to fight.

"Look, it´s cool, okay?" said Mark, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. "My wife and I were just having a fight, and I got a little carried away…"

"_Wife?" _gasped Christine, and Mark rounded on her and shot her a warning look. Christine thought of Raoul and was silent.

"I need to go to the ladies´ room," Christine announced suddenly.

"No!" snapped Mark, and the men near the doorway stiffened visibly.

"Now, there´s no reason the lady can´t go to the powder room. No reason on earth. You just let her go. No wonder she´s having troubles," said the elderly man firmly, and Mark´s jaw went rigid with anger.

"Okay, okay," Mark said, and propelled Christine gently forward by the elbow. As they went into the building, the men who had been prepared to fight followed the couple loosely. Christine looked over her shoulder and smiled her gratitude to her elderly champion, and Mark was furious.

"Try anything and I´ll know," he whispered harshly to Christine as she entered the ladies´ room on the hospital´s first floor.

* * *

Christine waited, breathing regularly now. She looked around – not another woman in sight.

_If someone comes in, I can borrow her cell phone and call Erik…_

Half an hour passed, and not a single soul entered the restroom. Christine, who had been pacing, dared to peek out the door, and she saw Mark´s back and the yellow CAUTION! WET FLOOR sign he had placed nearby. He had been barring entry. He seemed to be having a tense conversation with Nadir, who was facing him, and Christine heard snatches of it: "…if I cannot even use a public telephone!" Nadir was saying, and she could not decipher Mark´s muttered response. Nadir was looking at his watch nervously.

_Now what do I do? _

_

* * *

  
_

Christine was frightened that Mark would demand to be present during the doctor´s examination of her; fortunately, he did not. He considered a quick, harshly worded warning to be sufficient to keep her in line.

As she entered the room where she was to be examined, Christine did not disrobe as ordered. She simply waited, and a young gynaecologist soon appeared. She looked to be barely out of residency, and she frowned when she saw that Christine was still fully clothed.

"Oh…perhaps you didn´t understand what the nurse told you…" she began, but Christine interrupted.

"I understood. But you don´t need to examine me, doctor – I´m fine. I´ve faked premature labor because of … issues with my husband. He´s very controlling, you see, and I just had to get out of the house. It´s a long story."

"Are you in some sort of trouble? Is he an abuser?" asked the doctor sharply.

"No!" said Christine hurriedly.

"Then I may as well tell you that the hospital emergency room is no place to stage such a childish stunt. Whatever the problems you´re having in your marriage, I would suggest counselling. I have very little time for real patients with real emergencies as it is…" She turned towards the door.

"Please, doctor – he´s not abusive physically. Not yet, anyway, but if you tell him that I faked this problem, he´ll kill me! Please believe me! I´m begging you to tell him something, anything, that won´t make him mad. Please let me stay here! I can´t ride back home with him. I can´t!"

The doctor paused, her hand on the doorknob. "Look, I can´t have you admitted…"

"You don´t have to! Just tell him not to take me home. I wish he would just go away! He´s scary lately. He´s even got a gun hidden under his jacket!"

"He can´t carry a concealed weapon in this hospital. It´s against policy. Didn´t he read the notice at the door?"

"I don´t think he cared!"

The doctor gave Christine a long look, and she seemed to relent.

"I´ll see what I can do for you," she said, finally.

* * *

"Like hell I´m handing over my Glock!" snarled Mark at the two security men, and one of them pointed a Taser at him.

Christine watched the scene, finally hopeful, but Mark glanced at her, smiled a tight smile, and unholstered his gun, handing it carefully to the security men.

Nadir exhaled as the men walked away. "We can go now," he said, looking at his watch nervously. "It is almost four now. So much time waiting!"

"You didn´t hear what the doctor said?" drawled Mark wearily. "The damn patient can´t be moved yet. She has to stay here for at least three hours more to make sure she´s really okay."

"She is fine now. Whatever was wrong, the doctor made her well. And my car has a very smooth ride. I think we must go back now."

"You do, do you? And who do you think is in charge here, asshole?" asked Mark. His irritation was becoming more apparent by the minute. "And I wonder who tipped them off about my cute little Glock?" he added, turning towards Christine. "If it was you who did that…"

Christine raised her hands defensively. "Anyone could guess you were carrying something under that jacket. It´s hot in here, and you never took it off! I just want to get out of here," she lied, waiting for Mark´s inevitably perverse response.

"Well, you´ll just have to be a good girl and sit here for a few hours before we go back. Doctor´s orders!"

* * *

Despair set in during the hours Christine was forced to sit and wait. _So I´ve bought time – but that´s all I have now! If I were to write a note? If I were just to shout and scream? But Ashley still has Raoul, and if I don´t return, she´ll kill him…_She thought of the irony of Raoul´s being the pawn first of Erik, then of Ashley. _All my fault! _ She glanced at Mark, who was watching her like a hawk.

Seven o´clock arrived, and Mark checked in with Ashley one more time before escorting Christine to the car for the trip back to the house. He tossed the keys to Nadir. "You drive. I´ll keep an eye on the woman this time."

Christine shuddered. As much as she loathed Nadir for his betrayal, she knew that he would never harm her. Yet Mark´s presence close to her in the back seat of the car unnerved and even frightened her.

Nadir turned the key in the ignition, and they set off. He no longer seemed nervous, and he no longer bothered to look at his watch. _What´s with his obsession with the time? _

Christine stared out the car window dully as the skies darkened and stars began to appear. Listless despair had set in, and she felt exhausted. She nearly fell asleep as the ride continued, but she roused herself when she noticed Nadir pulling the car onto the shoulder of the road. She looked; they were in open countryside, and she estimated that they were not far from Ashley´s house.

"What´s going on?" slurred Mark´s voice, and she turned to look at him. He was rubbing his eyes. It seemed that he, too, had slumbered.

"The car has overheated," said Nadir, who had already gotten out. "I think that we may have trouble with the head gasket."

"_Shit,"_ said Mark, and he lumbered slowly out of the car to look under the hood with Nadir.

Christine looked out at the moonless darkness and heard the muttering of the men´s voices as they consulted each other regarding what to do about the car. _And if I were to try to run now? _She opened the door as slowly and quietly as she could. The voices had stopped.

She gasped as Nadir appeared suddenly beside her. "Get into the car, Christine. You can ride in the front now."

"Where´s Mark?"

"His body is in the ditch down there. He is dead – I killed him."

* * *

"It is thanks to you that I was able to kill the man. I always carry a knife with me, but I cannot fight a man with a gun. Without his gun, it was easy…" Nadir talked as he drove, his eyes never leaving the road.

"I´m not sure I want to hear this, Nadir! Now what´s going to happen? Ashley could do _anything _when she finds out about this!"

"She will do nothing. Erik has reached her by now."

"Erik?" Christine felt the breath leave her lungs.

"Your husband, yes. I have been working with him all this time, Christine."

"And all the times you told me to leave him?"

"I was to infiltrate Ashley´s group and learn about it. I reported to Erik and did what I could to appear to be his enemy. I _was _his enemy for a short time. Do you remember the night I was talking to you in the kitchen, when you dropped the chicken? I truly hated your husband then. That evening, he talked with me, and everything changed. He loves you Christine, and I know it now. I love you, too, but not the way Ashley thinks I love you. I want the best for you – a good life, a good husband – and Erik knows this. He saw the way I feel, and he chose to use me as his closest ally.

"He had been watching Ashley carefully since her husband´s death, and he was worried about what she might do. She had known and been in communication with Damian Wyman, who had been with Frontier 4 before Erik put him into an irreversible coma. His death notice did not appear, and he was put into hospital under a different name. Erik assumed his identity and worked from his pc, and he was careful to examine every bit of information, every e-mail that Damian and Frontier 4 possessed.

"Erik corresponded with Ashley regularly, and she thought she was talking to Damian. Imagine his alarm when he discovered that the woman meant to kill you! She hated you, Christine, and still hates you because of what happened to her husband. She hates Erik, too, but he was clearly much more difficult to kill.

"Through his Damian persona, Erik warned Ashley not to harm you in any way. You could be a valuable hostage, after all. The information Damian possessed on Erik´s truth serum had been sketchy at best – but here, at last, was a chance to obtain _all_ of it, and Ashley seized this opportunity.

"Erik knew you wanted to run from him. He knew what was in your heart, and he knew that Ashley wanted to kidnap you. He decided that the best way to control the situation was to supervise it completely, then bring in the police. He even got in touch with Angela, your old nemesis, and offered her good money to take on a double responsibility: she was to keep De Chagny´s attention off of you, and she was to protect you from Ashley as well as she could. As you know, I was also in a double role. I pretended to be working for Ashley, but I was reporting to Erik.

"When Ashley became impatient and a violent kidnapping became probable, I did what I could to persuade you to leave Erik. It did not work. Then Erik came up with the idea of dressing me up as a freshly-murdered corpse. I passed it off as _my_ idea to Ashley. He knew that you did not trust him, and he knew that you would run from him. He seemed conveniently absent when you left, not because I lured him away, but because he was hidden within the house, watching you the entire time.

"Erik´s next step was to notify his contacts in the police department. He could have done things simpler, you know? He could have murdered Ashley, but he refuses to sully his hands with the blood of a woman. So, he decided that catching Ashley and her men in the act of holding you and Raoul hostage would be best. She would go to prison for a long time with the proper amount of evidence.

"He was to arrive at Ashley´s house with the police department at five in the afternoon today. I was to shield you from possible harm, though he had your rescue very carefully planned, and he was sure that I would not be necessary…"

Christine found her voice. "I was kept in the dark the entire time. You and Erik were playing with me the whole time!"

"No! No, Christine, it wasn´t like that. Erik was trying to balance things – he did not want you upset, but he wanted you safe. He wanted you to be free to come and go, which was what you wanted the most. He told me so himself! He did not want to wait until after you had the baby, because the baby would only become another target for Ashley, and things would become harder to control."

"And he always has to be in control, doesn´t he?" snapped Christine.

Nadir sighed and pressed the accelerator to the floor. "Not always. He may not know where you are now. As I said, he arrived at five o´clock, and he found you gone, with brownish stains on your bedroom floor. And the police will have Ashley and Dylan in custody, so Erik can´t interrogate them himself. He will not be in control right now, no."

As they pulled onto the long gravel drive which led to the house, the smell of smoke entered the car´s ventilation system, and a telltale glow lit the sky above the cypresses which blocked their view of the house. Once they had driven beyond the cypresses, the flames became apparent – Ashley´s "safe house" had become an enormous torch.

"Oh, my God. He has put fire to it!" said Nadir.

Christine looked, shocked. There was a flicker of movement in front of the vast wall of fire, and she recognized Erik´s silhouette. He stood still for a few seconds, and Nadir left the car to approach him.

_I´ve been a pawn all this time!_

Christine got out of the car and moved to the driver´s side. Nadir had left the motor idling, and she adjusted the seat and strapped herself in with the seatbelt. She glanced up to see that Erik had seen her – he was fairly flying towards her now. She shifted the car quickly into reverse, flooring the accelerator, then turned to roar down the drive, away from Erik and towards freedom.


	15. Chapter 15

**My thanks to all who have read and reviewed!**** You guys rock.**

**Posting updates is going to be complicated in the upcoming weeks, as I will be on vacation – without an Internet connection! So, I will try to update as I can, but it will be once every two weeks at best, I´m afraid. **

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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She had never seen Erik out of control before, and Jeanne hoped that she never would again.

He had called her that morning hoping for her assistance. It seemed that Christine had not realized it yet, but she had been kidnapped by Ashley and a pair of her hired thugs. He had been remarkably calm and cool, especially under the circumstances.

"And what on earth can I do? This is not our usual type of work," Jeanne had responded.

"Not at all," he had agreed. "But you are an old friend of Christine´s … rather a maternal figure. I would like you to comfort her and explain things to her when I free her – I will probably be busy with the police for an hour or so immediately afterwards, so I am asking that you attend to Christine in my stead."

And he had explained the situation to Jeanne in careful detail. His plan – Christine´s escape, her carefully controlled stay at Ashley´s house, and her release, along with Ashley´s arrest – all of it was devised to put an end to any intrigue threatening his marriage, once and for all.

Yet Jeanne had been shocked. "You mean to tell me that you never told Christine what´s been going on, or what you´ve been planning?"

"I would never subject her to such pressure. If all goes well, and if we treat her with sufficient care, this nasty end to her little holiday will not represent an enormous shock. Well, will you help me or not?"

Jeanne had agreed to help, relieved that there were no deaths planned for that evening. She had also been eager to see Ashley in handcuffs – she shuddered to think how very close the woman had been to her Meg. _Another false friend._

However, for the first time in his long career, things had not gone as Erik had planned. He, the police, and Jeanne had waited. Yet the choreography had gone so terribly wrong that two hours had passed, and Nadir had still not issued the agreed-upon signal from the house. A somewhat disorganized police raid had ensued, and Ashley and Dylan had been cuffed, but there had been no sign of Christine, of Nadir, or of Mark.

"Where is Christine?" Erik had hissed, looking at Ashley. He had seemed calm, at first, although he was pale, and he actually seemed to be perspiring.

"Who knows?" Ashley had spat, and she had smiled slowly as she watched Erik, her dark eyes cold and calculating. "She´s gone off with Nadir and Mark. Now, I have to give my man Mark a little credit. He´s good, you know. He´s very good at what he does. I´ll tell you a little secret. He´s been keeping a cell phone with him, and I let him know that if it rings…he kills Christine. And, guess what? I´ve just had enough time to give him a little call…"

The police had listened with interest. Ashley had given them all the evidence that they needed regarding her criminal intentions, without any regard for the harm she was doing to herself. She had wanted to hurt Erik more than anything in the world, it seemed.

Raoul had been particularly unhelpful. He had been under the impression that he was on a social visit, and he had insisted to the police that there had been no kidnapping.

"This is all Erik St. Amand´s fault. He even torched my car…"

Angela had pulled at his sleeve and whispered to him. "Honey? Actually, I´m the one who burned your car. I have something to explain to you…"

Raoul and Angela had spent the next few minutes in intense conversation in a corner of the living room.

As the police left, escorting Ashley and Dylan away, Jeanne had known with all her heart that she was the only person Erik could rely upon now. She alone could see what was happening to him, and she watched him as he went into Christine´s room and assessed the stains he saw there, touching and tasting them.

"Iodine," he had said in amazement, running his fingers through his hair.

"Not blood," Jeanne had clarified, and she had waited for hope to set in.

"It would seem not," he had answered pensively. He went over to where Christine´s overnight bag was, and he started to examine its contents. He pulled out her maternity nightgown and buried his face in it, inhaling her fragrance. Jeanne looked away, towards the window.

"I´ll have this house burned," Erik had said quietly after a few more moments had passed.

"What?"

"Get out, and tell the others to leave," he had said, and he had taken Christine´s bag to his car for safekeeping.

He had really done it very artistically. Jeanne had known that Erik was an occasional magician, and that he enjoyed pyrotechnics. On this occasion, he produced fireballs, seemingly from up his sleeve, and he hurled them onto – and into – Ashley´s house. Little by little, the house had ignited. The weather had been dry, and the beams under the roof were like tinder.

"Do you suppose Christine might have enjoyed this?" Erik had asked Jeanne as he produced a fireball which was absolutely blue. "After all, it´s her favourite color…"

He had come almost completely unhinged, yet there was something of sanity left in him yet, and Jeanne had tried to reason with him.

"You haven´t heard from Nadir," she had offered, and Erik paused, and she was sure he was listening. "He will defend Christine," she had added.

She had been terrified that he would simply walk into the burning house.

Raoul and Angela had lingered nearby, frightened and waiting.

The sound of a car motor could be discerned now, and Erik turned from his work and stood, looking. The house was completely engulfed in flames by this time; the heat was nearly unbearable, and it ruffled Erik´s dark hair like a torrid breeze.

Nadir´s car approached, and Erik remained still, his gaze following its progress intensely. There were two people within. It stopped, and Nadir got out and started to move towards Erik, but it was the other figure he watched, transfixed, and tears mingled with his perspiration.

Suddenly galvanized, he flew past Nadir and towards Christine, and Jeanne nearly smiled, prepared to enjoy the happy reunion.

Yet Christine did not stay. Jeanne watched in disbelief as she moved to the driver´s seat and roared away, leaving her husband behind.

* * *

Christine could hear Nadir´s voice shouting something as she pushed the accelerator to the floor, but she ignored him. She glanced briefly in the rear view mirror, and she could see the dust she had churned up swirling against the backdrop of flames. _Ashley´s house. The safe house. The setting for Erik´s play… _

She thought of Erik´s silences, all the things he had not told her. What could hold more meaning and truth than the things that people are unwilling to say? Erik had not told her of his plans and had thus made her the unwitting protagonist of a drama that he thought was for her own good. Or did he? Perhaps he simply enjoyed the art of it. Christine was willing to believe anything, shaken as she was to her very foundation.

Pulling onto the highway, she looked into the rear view mirror from time to time. No headlights appeared behind her, and she relaxed her foot, easing up on the accelerator. Out of some perverse instinct, she had taken the same highway which led to the hospital. _I´m going north. _

She glanced across the highway involuntarily when she approached the place where Nadir had stopped the car and killed Mark. She had seen nothing and heard nothing, and could not help wondering whether it had really happened. Nothing seemed real anymore, and no one seemed worthy of trust.

An exit appeared, along with a sign indicating that she could change direction, and, on impulse, Christine turned and accessed the side of the highway which went south. When she had reached the place where they had left Mark, she pulled onto the shoulder of the road.

The engine idled_. What am I doing? _Her mind screamed as she gripped the steering wheel, frozen in place. The baby within her turned and delivered a spirited kick, and a truck whizzed past, causing the sedan to rock in its wake.

Yet she turned off the ignition and left the car, daring to look beyond the highway´s shoulder into the drainage ditch that ran parallel to the highway above. Its concrete reflected dark grey in the starlight and revealed nothing. Christine sighed and searched, willing her eyes to adapt to the shadows. She turned on her heel and returned to the car, opening the passenger-side door and searching the glove compartment for a flashlight. She found two. One of them was tiny – not over three inches long. She tested it. It lit with a feeble glow, but could illuminate very little. She reached for the second flashlight, which was of a more ordinary size and would be of much better use…but its batteries were completely dead. _I guess it would be typical of Nadir not to check his batteries! _

A fire truck came barrelling down the highway, its lights flashing and its sirens screaming – it was the volunteer fire department which served the area, late for its appointment to save Ashley´s house.

Christine backed away from the highway involuntarily as the truck hurried by, the smaller flashlight still in her grasp, and she stumbled into the drainage ditch and started to fall. She caught herself on time, nearly running down the slope into the darkness below, until she reached the bottom and her foot came down on something soft. She shifted carefully until she could easily keep her balance.

Training the flashlight downward, she squeezed her eyes shut, then dared to open them and look.

_Oh, no…!_

She took a deep breath and moved the tiny beam upward from the Rolex on Mark´s wrist, following his jacket sleeve up to what was left of his neck. Nadir´s knife must have been razor-sharp: Mark´s throat had been very cleanly and effectively sliced. No wonder she had heard nothing! A dark stain pooled around Mark´s head, and Christine nearly jumped when her flashlight focused on a smiley face at the edge of the gore – Mark´s body had landed on several pieces of litter, including an empty potato-chip bag. "Lighter! Crispier!" gushed the letters under the smiley face. The rest of the plastic bag was obscured by the dark stain.

_I need to call__ the police and tell them where to find Mark, _thought Christine, as she turned off the flashlight and lifted her face to contemplate the stars. _Perhaps I could find a stick and tie a rag to it – that way I could mark the spot for them near the shoulder of the road…_

She turned the light on again and bent down, gingerly opening Mark´s coat to find his cell phone in the inside pocket. She glanced at the screen – _one missed call: Ashley. _

The sudden sound of a policeman hitting his siren, then as suddenly turning it off – _BLIP!!! –_ caused Christine to startle and nearly drop the phone just as she was about to make her call. She could see the glow of lights up above; the police car was just behind Nadir´s sedan.

She struggled up the other side of the ditch, away from the cars, to where a copse of poplar trees stood beneath the starlight. She glanced back across the ditch once she had gained the summit, and she was relieved to see that the two policemen had not noticed her and were busy now examining Nadir´s car with their flashlights. She hid carefully within the trees and watched the activity from her vantage point.

* * *

Once Christine had driven off in Nadir´s car, Erik had stood as though stunned, and Jeanne worried that he might do something rash once he recovered. His hand went to his coat pocket, however, and he flipped open his cell phone and made a quick call.

Nadir and Jeanne approached him just as he ended the conversation.

"She took my car!" announced Nadir, incredulous. "The little butt-rash took my car!"

Erik ignored him and moved towards his own car. Jeanne and Nadir followed him and watched as he adjusted his radio to the police frequency.

"A mere question of time now," he murmured to himself, then turned to Nadir. "I would appreciate an explanation, Nadir, if you please. _What, _exactly, _happened?_"

"You´re not going after Christine now?" Nadir asked.

Erik sighed. "I could outpace her easily, but I do not wish to endanger her by giving chase. I have a different tactic in mind, one which should be safer…Now, would you please explain to me why you and Christine were not here at the appointed time?"

As Nadir offered a brief account of Christine´s deceit, the subsequent trip to the hospital, and what had happened to Mark on the way back, Angela and Raoul approached to listen.

"You killed Mark?" Angela asked, looking at Nadir with wide eyes.

"Mr. Karrubi has never done a better day´s work in his entire life," Erik asserted coolly. Jeanne noted that he seemed himself again, though half of his attention was focused on the conversations emitted on the police frequency.

"It was necessary," Nadir said quietly. "Mark was cruel and unpredictable."

"You have no idea how much," remarked Jeanne, and Nadir turned to her, surprised.

"Well, pretty soon Angela here should be sticking knives in people, too," Raoul said with false cheer, putting a stiff arm around his girlfriend´s shoulders. "After all, she´s already torching cars! I suppose that soon Mr. St. Amand will have her killing folks in really creative ways – I mean, it seems like the logical next step –"

"Don´t be vile!" Angela snapped, and she turned to Erik. "I had to burn Raoul´s car so that he´d get scared and agree to come here!"

"My _Mercedes_!" groaned Raoul.

"It was all for Christine, you know," Angela said defensively.

"Mr. De Chagny, you should not be harsh with Miss Fanning. She adores you and was willing to put her life on hold in order to reunite with you. It is true that she is being paid a small stipend for helping me with my own plans, but her chief interest has always been in you. You should be _grateful_," noted Erik.

"_Grateful?" _spat Raoul. "She totalled my _car!"_

Erik waved a dismissive hand. "Your car will be replaced. You need not worry."

"And _you _justtorched an entire _house! _No wonder Christine has doubts about being with you!"

Erik, who had been slouching gracefully against his Volvo, straightened to his full height and glowered at Raoul. There was a long silence.

"I should like to speak with Mr. De Chagny in private," Erik finally said, his tones a quiet hiss.

Angela, Nadir and Jeanne turned and walked towards a rusty metal garden table and chairs under an ash tree some sixty feet away. Angela glanced back at Raoul once or twice, clearly worried, but she seated herself. They formed an odd group, sitting and watching Ashley´s house burn as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Raoul squared his shoulders and wished fleetingly that he was as tall as the man who now faced him.

"I would appreciate it, Mr. De Chagny, if you would consider yourself happy with what you have and not go about trying to poach other men´s wives," started Erik with quiet venom.

"I never tried to _poach _anything! I care for Christine – I´ve cared for her for years. I´m her friend, and that gives me the right to worry about her."

"Indeed? Where were you when her father died?"

Raoul was silent. Erik let the pause linger before he finally spoke again.

"I am here, Mr. De Chagny, for her tears as well as her smiles. I should think that you would understand that essential difference between you and me."

"I didn´t mean to fall out of touch with her! We dated for a long time – for years, and we were very close once –"

"I have an idea how close you once were, and I know as a certain fact how close you _were not,_" said Erik, his voice low.

"What do you --? _Oh_," said Raoul, and his blush was visible in the firelight.

"It was essentially a childhood attachment, and you dwell overmuch on what _might have been --_ I fear you have a great deal of imagination. You should never have permitted your flights of fancy to distract you away from the woman who truly loves you," Erik continued.

Raoul´s voice was quiet. "My relationship with Angela has always been complicated, but I never really meant to become involved with Christine, okay? Well, maybe just for a moment, but I was confused. We´re friends. Christine and I are friends, and that´s all there is to it."

"I am overjoyed to hear that, Mr. De Chagny. There, you see? There is no reason on earth why we should be enemies! Why this is not obvious is beyond me. It´s odd; a few weeks ago I found myself giving a similar speech -- to Nadir, of all people…"

The radio crackled, and Erik quieted as he listened to the voices on the police frequency.

"Nadir!" he barked, and quickly moved to the driver´s side and got into the Volvo. Nadir approached at a run and quickly ensconced himself in the passenger side.

Raoul watched, his hands in his pockets, as the Volvo raced down the drive.

* * *

Christine watched as a familiar car pulled up behind the police car. _Erik and Nadir! _She backed slightly farther into the trees, watching.

The officers shook hands with Erik and Nadir, and Christine observed with surprise and a certain annoyance that they seemed to be on friendly terms. Nadir seemed to be explaining something to the group – he was speaking and gesticulating, and he finally pointed down into the drainage ditch. The officers nodded and turned their flashlights on, and the group went down into the ditch to find Mark´s body.

Erik glanced briefly toward Christine´s hiding-place in the poplars, but he became distracted by an observation or question directed at him by one of the policemen. They had found Mark´s body easily and were grouped around it, conversing easily. Christine could even hear one of the officers laughing.

Suddenly Mark´s cell phone came to life. Christine jumped and nearly dropped it as it blasted T.I.´s "Dead and Gone" at maximum volume. She cursed Mark´s taste in ringtones and quickly answered it, but it was too late – the group down in the ditch was now staring straight at the copse where she was hidden. One of the officers started in her direction, but Erik said something which stopped him.

"Mark? Where are you? MARK?" It was Ashley. Her voice vibrated over the phone with urgency.

Erik started moving towards Christine – slowly, carefully, as though he were trying not to frighten her.

"Mark, you shithead, _answer me! _This is the only call they´re letting me make!"

Christine was trembling now; Erik was several feet away, and his eyes glowed warmly in the pitch darkness. His voice was soothing, but she could not quite hear what he was telling her. She moved towards him without thinking, trying to discern it…

"You have to help me! They´ve jailed me without bond, Mark…Get me a lawyer! You have to fix this!"

"I really don´t think he can," said Christine, quietly, and she could hear Ashley´s voice explode into curses as Erik took the phone from her.

"Good night, Mrs. Jacobs," he said, and ended the conversation.

Christine found herself in Erik´s embrace just as the stars seemed to go grey and her knees went weak.

"When did you last eat, Christine?" Erik´s voice sounded distant, and Christine strained to answer. _No breakfast, no lunch, no dinner…_

The stars faded away.

* * *

The morning light illuminated the bedroom, but Christine kept her eyes closed. Memories of Erik´s voice and a lullaby came to her. Surrender had been so easy – too easy. Or had it really been surrender? She could smell something good, and wondered if Erik was in the kitchen.

"Drink this," he said, and she opened her eyes. Erik was dressed in his pajama bottoms, shirtless and maskless, and he offered her a small bowl. "It´s broth. You need to keep your strength up."

"The baby -- !" she gasped.

"…Has been kicking mightily the entire time you´ve been resting. All is well, Christine," he said soothingly.

Erik helped her to sit up and made certain that she drank the entire contents of the bowl. He gave her some water before he permitted her to drink any juice.

"I´ll get up now," Christine announced. She had never enjoyed being waited upon, and this situation was worse. There was an intimacy to the way Erik served her which she wanted to avoid.

"You will _not _try to get to your feet yet," insisted Erik. He fetched a tray from his bedside table: an omelette and croissant, along with some cheese.

"You had no right to worry me as you have, you know," Erik began as Christine tucked into her breakfast. Her hunger had come back full-force now, but she began to choke on a large forkful of omelette.

"_Me? _Worry _you?" _she said, swallowing with difficulty. "How _could _you? You make me a pawn in that scheme involving Ashley and _you´re _the offended party? Why didn´t you tell me what you were planning, Erik? It certainly affected me directly!"

He moved closer to her, his eyes blazing.

"If you had trusted me as you should have we would never have been in such a position! Do you deny that you have long entertained thoughts of escaping me? Do you have any idea how knowing this has tormented me? You may do with me as you wish, Christine, but _do not try to escape me!"_

"I only ran because there was a body in the lab! And then I find out that it was a trick of yours and Nadir´s…"

"And it never occurred to you to stick around, perhaps, and see what I had to say about the matter, did it?"

"You were _testing _me?"

"You simply proved that you did not trust me enough to stay out of harm´s way. It was necessary to neutralize the Jacobs woman, however."

"And what would have happened if I had stayed? How would you have dealt with Ashley?" Christine challenged him.

"Some other way which did not involve _you_!" he roared.

"So you were _teaching me a lesson!"_ exclaimed Christine, nearly hysterical now. Her chest was heaving, and she burst into tears.

Erik froze, gripping his head as if in agony.

"No! _No_! Christine … please, Christine..." Erik pleaded. Seating himself on the edge of the bed, he reached over to hold her, and she did not resist him. "Forgive me," he whispered. "You frighten me so much! I love you, Christine. I love you so."


	16. Chapter 16

**Hi, everyone! I am so very sorry for the time elapsed since my last update! The last several weeks have been filled with crises, and I can truly say that I´ve rarely had a moment´s peace.**

**My most grateful thanks to all those who have sent me messages encouraging me to update. And hugs to all those who have reviewed!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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_**For 30 points:**_

_**You are married to an unrepentant murderer. **_

_**Will you:**_

_**a) accept him with open arms, no matter what;**_

_**b) leave him; you have no time for the morally impaired, especially since you are pregnant! How could such a man be a good father to your child?**_

_**c) accept him with reservations – "love the sinner, hate the sin," after all; or**_

_**d) do the Peppermint Twist?**_

Well, we can rule out "d," _Christine mused_.

_She__ glanced around the room in which she was taking the exam. The walls were of cinderblock and were painted an industrial shade of light brown. The chairs and tables were formica and were chipped, scratched, and worn. Bare fluorescent tubes lit the room._

_Looking down at her answer sheet, she filled in the bubble for "c," biting her pencil as she paused to look at the next question._

_**For 37 ½ points:**_

_**Your husband has just inadvertently exposed you and your unborn child to danger. Will you:**_

_**a) smile and try to ignore it;**_

_**b) confront him with this issue and clear the air;**_

_**c) give him the silent treatment; or**_

_**d) make him wear the fishnet stokkings next time, while **_**you **_**wield the whip?**_

"_Now, that´s no way to spell 'stockings,' is it?" commented Christine in a low voice to the person sitting next to her, who turned out to be Mark. His skin held a greyish pallor, but otherwise he did not seem to be suffering any of the usual ill effects of having died. _

"_You´re looking better," Christine observed._

"_It takes time," he responded with a nod, "but I´m getting a lot better, y´know? But this place is _not cool_," he added, scowling as he looked around._

"_Hey, what answer did you give for number two?" Christine asked him suddenly, encouraged by his friendly demeanor. "I think I´m flunking this test!"_

_Mark leaned towards her conspiratorially._

"'_Stockings,' but with two k´s," he intimated._

"_What?"_

_He sighed impatiently, rolled his eyes at her idiocy, and tried again._

"_T-R-A-P…D-O-O-R,"_ _he murmured, and Christine instantly fell through the floor and jerked into wakefulness._

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Erik had finally told her that he loved her – this, after three years, yet Christine had been oddly unprepared for it. She had not met his declaration with one of her own. She had not responded at all, and she had drifted off to sleep with the sensation that somehow she had slapped her husband. _But he knows I love him, _she thought resentfully.

Memories of their wedding night came to her. Erik had been gentle, but she had shed an inordinate amount of blood during their first coupling – not the few drops she had been led to expect. Her husband´s soft but unyielding embrace had surprised her when she had tried to move away from him, suffering pangs of embarrassment, self-consciousness, _strangeness. _She had felt soiled.

"No," he had said firmly. He had waited for his breathing to return to normal before he had spoken.

"But there´s so much blood," she had begun. She tried once more to move away from him, but his grip on her tightened almost painfully. In her surprise at this, she had dared to glance at him, and her heart had nearly stopped: in the darkness of the bedroom, his eyes had glowed like embers. Later, she was to regard his eyes with a type of fascination, even affection, but their smoldering incandescence nearly frightened her out of her wits during that first moment.

"No," he had repeated just when she had stiffened with terror, the blood forgotten.

_No?_

The burning gaze had scrutinized her, and some feeling flickered within its depths, but Christine had been too frightened to notice it. He had pressed her to him then even more closely, holding her head gently against his chest so that she could no longer see his eyes.

"You will stay with me. All is well."

His voice had been soothing. There had been peace between them, but something had been missing.

_Why couldn´t you have told me you loved me _then_, Erik? Why couldn´t you have trusted me? _She thought of the years she had lived with his seeming indifference, and against the backdrop of all that they had been through together lately, she felt a new resentment.

* * *

The days which followed were painful and awkward. Christine felt bloated and heavy as her baby´s growth seemed to increase its pace. Erik behaved as he had during the earlier days of their marriage – he was cool, detached, unaffectionate, nearly icy.

For the first time during their marriage, the chill extended to their marriage-bed, and Christine discovered, much to her horror, that Erik would remain quietly on his side of the bed after having bade her a polite good-night. Stung and frustrated, she made no attempt to reach out to him, although she needed his touch, his love – _him! -- _very badly.

_It´s as if he´s punishing me for something, _Christine thought as she lay awake in their bed, her eyes looking out into the silent darkness. Slowly, an idea dawned on her. _He´s punishing me because he told me he loves me, and he didn´t want to! _She cursed his pride. _Well, you won´t see me running after you like a lovesick schoolgirl, Erik! I have better things to do!_

A quieter voice within her psyche murmured something else to Christine, something which she pushed aside and tried to ignore: _I AM lovesick!_

Nadir Karrubi´s frequent visits represented a welcome relief to the atmosphere of cold civility which now reigned in the couple´s home. Christine felt an immense gratitude to him for his protecting her from Ashley and her thugs, and she made no attempt to hide her admiration for him.

"I wonder…where did you learn to … to deal with your enemies like that?" she asked him one day as she served him tea. She had learned that he liked tea better than Coke, and she frequently offered him homemade cookies, too.

"You mean…like that Mark person?" responded Nadir, shifting uncomfortably and glancing nervously at Erik, who, oblivious to the conversation, was poring over some papers as he sat in a nearby armchair.

Christine laughed lightly. "Don´t worry, Nadir. I understand now that you _had _to do what you did to Mark. But, where did you learn to do that sort of thing?"

"I do not want to talk about it, if you don´t mind, please…"

"Oh, well, that´s alright, if you´d really rather not. By the way, what do you think will become of Ashley now?"

"The woman will rot in prison – I am sure of it. As soon as the trial is behind us and you have testified…"

"I have to testify, then," murmured Christine. "Of course. When do you think the trial will be?" She glanced nervously at her growing midriff.

"She is in jail in lieu of bond, so the trial will be maybe in ninety days at most?" Nadir glanced at Erik, searching for a response, but he continued silent and immersed in his papers.

"So it´s coming up soon. Doesn´t someone need to talk with me about testifying?" persisted Christine.

"But I thought the DA´s office was talking to you," said Nadir, perplexed. "I myself have been in their offices, and I was surprised not to see you…"

"She will not be required to testify," Erik´s voice cut in.

There was a silence, and Nadir stared at Erik inquisitively, while Christine fumed. Erik himself continued to concentrate on the papers in his hands.

"Well! _Thanks a lot _for telling me, Erik!" Christine spat. "I suppose I´ll have to call the DA´s office myself to find out why I can´t help put Ashley away?"

Erik lowered his papers and regarded his wife coolly. "Other witnesses will attest to Mrs. Jacobs´ criminal deeds, and they should be more than sufficient. I will _not _have you in the same room as that woman."

"Oh, I see!" seethed Christine. "So this is _your_ idea! I was wondering why I hadn´t heard a peep about Ashley and her messy situation! Well, Erik, I think I should remind you that, thanks to you, I was in the _same room _as 'that woman` -- under _her_ roof, mind you! – for a _day_. Did _that_ bother you? I´m lucky, though. I can thank Nadir here for protecting me, even if I can´t thank _you_ …"

She stopped. Something electric hung in the air, and although Erik was completely still, there was something so volatile in his gaze that she was frightened. He returned to his papers, however, and Christine cursed her lively mind for having imagined things.

* * *

The one constant in Christine´s life with Erik had always been music. She continued to practice under his supervision – he insisted now, more than ever, on her need to maintain her voice.

"Even if we can´t make any _forward _progress?" she asked him tiredly. The baby´s kicking, coupled with Erik´s new coolness towards her, had left her unable to sleep at night.

"After the baby is born, we will progress," Erik replied.

"After the baby is born, I`ll be so busy nursing and changing diapers and _mothering _that I don´t think that I will have much time for anything else, Erik," Christine murmured, rubbing her eyes.

"You will have time, since we shall have a full-time nanny to assist us …" Erik began.

"A _nanny? _Do I seem like the kind of hoity-toity person who doesn´t want to take care of her own child?" Christine snapped.

"Quite the opposite – you are extremely responsible, and therein lies our problem. I do not wish to see you – or our marriage -- overwhelmed by the exhausting demands of motherhood."

"Marriage, Erik? What marriage? We´ve barely talked about the weather these past few days, and I won´t even go into what´s _not _happening in our bedroom. I guess you´ll get over being disgusted with me once I´ve gotten my figure back, though, huh?"

Erik´s eyes flashed, but Christine forged ahead. _So he´s angry. So what? He´ll hear me out! _

"I´m not saying that a baby is any substitute for a _loving husband, _but at least there will be some human contact in my life once the baby´s finally arrived! I won´t have you taking that away from me, too! And you can just stay away from me now!"

Erik had been moving steadily towards her, but she held up a prohibitive hand and backed away slightly. He halted momentarily and seemed to be considering what to say.

"You…" he began.

"An excellent afternoon to you both!" came Nadir´s voice as he entered the living room. He paused as he noticed the tension in the air. "Do I interrupt something?"

"Oh, no!" said Christine, forcing a smile. "You´re not interrupting anything at all. Make yourself comfortable, Nadir – I´ll just make some tea for us."

She passed Erik on her way to the kitchen without dedicating so much as a glance to him, and Nadir paused as he noted the tension in Erik´s posture. Something was possibly amiss. _If I could only see his eyes! _Yet Erik´s face was turned towards the kitchen door through which Christine had just gone.

"Nadir! Could you help me with this, please?" came Christine´s voice from the kitchen, and Nadir forgot about Erik in his eagerness to assist her.

In the kitchen, Christine kept up a steady conversation with Nadir as she fussed with teacups, plates, napkins, and the tea tray. As always, she asked him to speak of his travels, of his home in Iran, and of his friends and family, and he gratefully obliged.

"I´m really glad to see you, you know," she said, smiling at him gratefully. "I´m kind of fat and uncomfortable now, and I hardly go out anymore. I really appreciate your company – you´re loads of fun to talk to."

Nadir smiled with bashful pleasure. Was it possible that he had once hated this woman? She had been the only person in years who had seen beyond his prickly façade to the lonely person within.

"Thank you," he said quietly, and paused as he struggled to find the right words to express what he was feeling. "You are a wonderful, pregnant pain in the ass, and I am still wondering if you were not put on this earth to kill me. I like you indeed!"

"What on earth was _that?_" Christine held onto the counter, shaking with mirth, then finally gave herself over to laughter. "Oh, dear…oh, heavens! So," she continued, recovering herself, "are you sure you don´t actually still hate me? I really can´t tell the difference! Never mind…

"Here," she added handing him the tray, "You can carry this into the living room for us."

"There are only two cups here. There are three people who could want tea," observed Nadir.

"Let Erik get his own tea," muttered Christine under her breath. "Come on, let´s sit down. My feet´ll swell up if I keep standing like this!"

Erik was seated at the piano, busily studying some sheet music, pen in hand. He did not glance up as Christine and Nadir entered.

"At any rate…what was I telling you? Oh, yes. I can´t stand in one place for very long – it´s hard on my feet, you know. I hope you´ll stick around a while, because I may need help getting up from this sofa. Here, let me pour, Nadir….will you take lemon with your tea? Nadir?"

Nadir had stopped listening to Christine. For some reason, the hair at the nape of his neck was beginning to stand on end. He glanced uneasily in Erik´s direction.

"Nadir?" persisted Christine.

"Uh…what? Oh…lemon? Yes, please…"

"You seem a bit distracted today! I´m distracted, too, but I have an excuse. There are only a few weeks left before the baby comes, you know…"

"Do you know if it´s a boy or girl?" asked Nadir curiously.

"No; I wanted it to be a surprise," said Christine as she sugared her tea and began to stir.

Nadir noticed that her cheeks were flushed, but he could not understand why. Perhaps the tea was too warm.

"As long as the baby´s healthy, I´ll be happy. I must tell you, Nadir, how very grateful I am that you visit so often. As absorbed by his life as my husband is, I might need _you _to help out and take me to the hospital when my time comes …"

Nadir went cold – in fact, he froze, and stole a panicked look at Erik. It was as he had feared: Erik´s entire attention was focused on Christine now, and his eyes were turbulent. Christine continued her chatter, seemingly oblivious to her husband´s rage….or pain…or whatever it was that caused him to look that way. Was the woman completely fearless? No, she was not, Nadir realized with a sinking feeling. She knew perfectly well that Erik could never harm her. _But he could harm me!_

Erik stood.

"…and I hope the idea of driving me to Emergency doesn´t freak you out too much," continued Christine, oblivious. "I´ll try not to break water or do anything equally icky…"

Nadir remained frozen in place on the sofa, watching as Erik glided towards them. He was reminded fleetingly of a python – _no, not a python – something venomous, like a pit viper! _

"…so you won´t have to panic or worry at all, really…" Christine added. She turned to look at her husband, who was now glowering at her from the other side of the tea tray. "Oh, hi, Erik. Did you need a pen or something?"

His reaction was immediate. Erik hurled the tea tray, and its contents, across the room, where the china smashed against the wall. Christine barely had time to take in this turn of events, since after two more seconds, he had fastened Nadir against the wall with a highly effective stranglehold. His eyes never left Christine, however.

"Leave…leave him alone," Christine breathed, willing her voice not to shake. She had known she was playing with fire, but she had clearly miscalculated Erik´s reaction.

"'Leave him alone'?" Erik said quietly, almost in conversational tones. "Why should I? His presence here annoys me."

Nadir began to turn purple. Christine could hear his short gasps as he struggled for breath.

"Erik, let him go, or I´ll …"

"Leave again? Is that what you plan to do?"

"No, Erik, no…please, just stop it!"

"Will _you _stop?"

"Anything…!"

Erik released Nadir, who fell to the floor limply as he sputtered and coughed and finally took in deep, grateful breaths of air.

"I´m sorry, Nadir," said Christine, and there were tears in her eyes. "I´m so sorry…"

Nadir had recovered enough to nod and wave a dismissive hand.

Erik propelled Christine gently but firmly towards the bedroom. "This ends _now."_

_

* * *

  
_

His breaths were heavy and labored, as if he had just been running.

"You have told me to ´stay away from you,` but I think that you should know by now, Christine, that I shall never do that. Your life is now inextricably joined with mine, whether you like it or not."

Erik had been pacing as he said this, but now he sat down beside Christine on the bed and took her left hand in his, and his fingers caressed her wedding band.

"How could you ever have decided to leave me? It is not yours to decide, Christine," he said calmly, "Nor can _I _break what has been forged between us, no matter how you torment me. Does that surprise you? Something greater than either of us decided our fate long ago. You will have me, whether you want me or not."

His voice had lowered to a near-whisper, and he continued to caress her fingers. He watched her, waiting.

"I´m not going to leave you, Erik," said Christine carefully. She sensed that she was in some kind of an emotional minefield – what could she say which would not anger or hurt him yet would not represent some form of submission?

"I´m simply upset. Where are you these days, Erik? You come and go without a word! Why have you been so cold and unfeeling lately? And after exposing me to the worst kind of danger…"

"You were never in danger," countered Erik evenly.

"Mark very nearly killed me!"

"No, not at all. That was a misperception we can only blame on Nadir, I fear. Still, one of the reasons I entrusted you to his care was his overzealous desire to protect you. It seems he overdid it."

"You mean to tell me that Mark was not dangerous to me?"

"Not so long as you were worth money to him. I have been acquainted with such people as he during my entire life, and I can assure you that I knew the exact limits of his behaviour."

"Then Mark died for no good reason," said Christine, sighing.

Erik was silent but continued to watch Christine as she sat, sad and thoughtful.

"What do you want from me, Erik?" Her voice trembled in spite of her best efforts.

"You know very well what I´ve always wanted from you. Shall we concentrate, perhaps, on what I do _not _want? I do not want bold attempts to push me from your life, nor will I tolerate any attempts to supplant me with another man – I am your husband, and I am the father of your child, whether you like it or not. I should not need to tell you this. I do _not _want you to try to escape from me, no matter how repugnant I may be to you."

"_Repugnant_? How can you say that? It´s _you_ who finds _me_ repugnant! Imagine being completely married to a man for years – and you know very well what I mean by 'completely` -- who hardly looks at you, let alone offers you an affectionate word! All this because you were afraid I´d be in danger if you trusted me with such _privileged information!"_

"Christine, I very much fear you would have betrayed that secret without being conscious of it. You are innocent and unable to dissimulate – for all your other gifts, you are still a terrible actress."

"Am I?" she returned. "And what do you think that scene in the living room with Nadir was? Did you think that that bitch was really _me_, or did you notice that I was role-playing just to get a rise out of you?"

Erik remained silent, his eyes fixed on Christine in stunned fascination.

"Perhaps I have been a fool," he finally murmured. "Forgive me."

He reached out and caressed her hair almost timidly, but became bolder as she leaned into him.

"You know how very much I need you, Christine. You know the truth…"

"I love you, too, Erik," she responded, and she felt him relax for the first time in weeks.

* * *

Nadir had helped himself to another cup of tea before letting himself out. Before he left, he stopped to examine himself in a hallway mirror. It was as he had suspected: there as bruising on his neck. He shook his head; there was no time to hide the marks – he had an appointment at the district attorney´s office in forty-five minutes. He loosened his collar and hurried out to his waiting car.


	17. Chapter 17

**Greetings, and my most heartfelt apologi****es for the time between updates! Real Life has been extremely difficult lately, and I have been unable to write except in bits and pieces.**

**My thanks**** to all who continue to read this story for your nearly saintly patience. And my deepest gratitude to all those who have taken the trouble to review. **

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.  
**

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* * *

  
**

"You have something to tell me pertaining to the Jacobs woman?" Erik´s voice seemed to chill the air.

Nadir shifted uncomfortably. The atmosphere in Erik´s study was thick with the tension of his displeasure, and Nadir tried to focus on anything but his boss, hoping to keep his thoughts organized. He stared at a crystal paperweight as he spoke.

"It is simple, I fear," he said quietly. "Christine must testify against Ashley. The DA´s office will issue a subpoena."

Erik, who had been standing behind his desk, now began to pace. He paused in his pacing to contemplate the safe in the wall behind his desk.

"Has our worthy district attorney forgotten so easily how much he owes me? If he defies me, I shall see to it that _no one _will contribute to his re-election campaign next year. You may tell him –"

A quick knock at the door interrupted Erik, and Christine entered, carrying a Coke garnished with a lemon slice. She smiled at her husband, and Nadir observed that Erik´s anger had disappeared completely – or so it would seem to the casual observer. He presented his wife with a bland, neutral expression, the perfect poker face.

"I thought you might be here," said Christine, turning to speak with Nadir as she offered him the drink. "I wanted to apologize for what happened yesterday, you know. I was trying to get Erik´s attention, but it backfired terribly…"

"No, no – don´t worry, I understand," Nadir said nervously, glancing quickly at Erik, who was watching Christine from his position behind the desk.

Christine murmured her thanks and moved towards Erik with all the grace her late pregnancy permitted her. He met her halfway, and she gave him a quick, almost shy kiss on his exposed cheek as she squeezed his upper arm affectionately.

"Dinner´ll be ready in about half an hour," she whispered. "Will you two be through soon? Should I set another place?"

"Nadir will be leaving within ten minutes," Erik replied. He watched her as she turned and left the room, delivering him a quick, significant smile as she closed the door once more.

As Erik stood staring at the closed door, Nadir looked at him openly, which was something he had never dared to do before. There was a peace about the man which was a complete novelty – Christine seemed to have short-circuited his habitual restlessness. In fact, Erik remained as still as granite for a long moment, until Nadir cleared his throat.

"Hmmm?" Erik came abruptly out of his reverie, and his eyes were once again trained on Nadir.

"You…wanted me to tell something to the DA?" prompted Nadir. "I must tell you that I think he will not budge. He wants Christine to testify, and he says she is necessary to his case…"

"Christine will _not _testify. I will not permit Ms. Jacobs´ attorneys to so much as look at her!"

"She would not mind…"

"I will not have it!"

"And what about the newspapers? The reporters?"

"That has been taken care of. Have you been bothered by any reporters since yesterday?"

Nadir shook his head and looked at Erik in amazement. "How…?"

"The press depends upon advertising revenue, and they do not wish to offend the corporations which buy the most advertising space," Erik replied impatiently. "Quashing a story is simple."

"Oh. And if…"

Yet Erik was no longer paying attention to Nadir, and had quietly crossed the room. He paused at the door before pulling it open with one quick movement. Christine stumbled in, then tried unsuccessfully to wrest herself from the arms that steadied her.

"Listening at doors, my dear?" he asked, grinning down at her wolfishly.

Christine lifted her chin, but she could not hide the blush that scalded her cheeks. "Dinner´s ready," she said with an air of defiance and tried to pull herself from Erik´s grip once more.

"Dinner can wait. What did you wish to know, Christine?"

Erik helped her into an armchair and stood over her, waiting. Nadir suppressed a smile.

"I want to _say_ something, more than anything," snapped Christine, irritated that her childish behaviour had led to her being treated as a child. "I _want_ to testify in court against Ashley. I really don´t mind. And what´s this about controlling the Press? Isn´t there supposed to be freedom of the Press in this country?"

"Very soon, you will be in the ninth month of your pregnancy, Christine," Erik noted. "Do you think I would permit you to be thrown to the wolves, even under easier circumstances? Your idealism is most refreshing – you are young, after all."

Christine gritted her teeth. "I don´t think that idealism means immaturity. Is that what you´re suggesting, Erik? And I may be pregnant, but that doesn´t mean I´m incompetent!"

"It means that now, more than ever, you must be protected. Mrs. Jacobs is clever in all the worst ways, Christine, and she now has attorneys on her side. The trial could be long and difficult, and it is clear she will not accept a plea bargain – she wishes to place you on the witness stand."

"So? I don´t mind."

"Mrs. Jacobs´ defense attorneys will do their best to make you appear frivolous, unbalanced, or mendacious."

"I don´t mind!"

"_I do!_"

There was a silence. Erik stood, ramrod-straight and rigid, while Christine fidgeted, her eyes downcast. Nadir observed.

Finally, Christine broke the silence.

"Oh, I see. That´s fine, then. You know best, Erik," said Christine, struggling to her feet. She smiled sweetly at Erik as she headed for the door. "As I said before, your dinner is ready whenever you are."

Both Erik and Nadir stood staring at the door she had closed this time.

"She is now very…what is the word? Docile?" remarked Nadir, finally.

"That is _not_ the word, because she is anything but _docile_," responded Erik, tapping at the edge of the desk with long, nervous fingers. "She is planning something."

"Planning something?" Nadir prompted, but Erik ignored him, lost in thought.

"The district attorney himself may be in rebellion, but we still have the cooperation of his entire staff," Erik murmured.

"That´s true," Nadir agreed.

"If necessary, we could arrange one…or several…_interviews _with Mrs. Jacobs unbeknownst to anyone," Erik continued. "She could be neutralized…with a moderate degree of trouble."

"You are afraid that Christine will contact the DA?"

"I am."

* * *

A quiet dinner, with Erik´s melodious voice soothing her as he chatted with her about mundane things; a quick clearing-off of the dishes; an hour listening to Erik playing Brahms at the piano. Finally, Christine had begun to drowse.

Yet now she waited in the bedroom, quietly fuming. _Why does he have to control everything? _The baby within her moved restlessly, as if sensing her turbulence.

_I can´t even get out of my dresses without Erik! _She struggled with the buttons at the back of her maternity dress, but no matter how she tried, she failed to reach all of them. She unbuttoned the top button, but gave up, exasperated. Erik had acquired beautiful, stylish maternity dresses for her, but they all fastened in the back. Now, more than ever, Christine was certain that this was no accident. He wanted her to be dependant upon him, needed her to _need_ him.

She sighed. The happiness between them now was undeniable, and she was loath to upset the balance.

She could hear Erik playing something sweeping and romantic in the living room – no Brahms, however. This music was of his own creation.

Padding quietly down the hallway, she entered the living room and listened, drawn by the melody. It stopped abruptly as Erik noted something down, humming. His unmasked face in the lamplight somehow seemed _young _this evening, and Christine realized with surprise that youth was the last thing she had ever associated with her husband.

"You cannot rest? Is my playing disturbing you?" She started when he addressed her. He had seemed too absorbed in his work to notice anything, but his eyes regarded her with a soft, affectionate glow now. He held out a hand in silent invitation.

"I…I can´t get out of this dress without your help, or the help of some scissors," she responded. _And you know the effect your music has on me!_

He stood and closed the distance between them, and he regarded her for a moment, his hands on her shoulders, before turning her carefully so that her back was facing him. He brushed her hair away from the nape of her neck and she felt his lips on her skin; they moved down to where the already-opened button was and kissed the patch of skin there.

"Erik…"

He straightened, and she knew what would come next. Erik´s attentions to her throat had alarmed her in the first days of their marriage, but she had gradually learned to relax and repress her feelings of vulnerability. He coaxed her head to the side now to expose her neck and stroked it with long, languorous fingers, and as he engulfed her more deeply in his embrace, he traced her carotid artery with his lips. She could feel his uneven breaths and the long sigh which followed. As predatory as he might have seemed, Christine somehow understood that Erik took comfort in feeling her blood pulsing steadily through her, in this assurance that all was well.

"You are maddening, you know," he whispered, his voice low and husky. One of his arms supported her firmly just beneath her breasts, and another rested gently over her swollen belly.

"No, I´m not," she replied reflexively.

He chuckled. "Do you see what I mean?"

"Does this mean you won´t unbutton my dress?"

"Of course I will. I wish to take care of you, Christine. I always have. Do you understand that?"

"Maybe sometimes I don´t need to be taken care of. Sometimes I need to stand on my own two feet," she murmured.

"Is that what you think?" His voice was amused, indulgent, and he kissed her lightly along her jawline.

"You treat me like a child sometimes," she sighed.

"I know a great deal more of the world, and of how it works, than you might care to know, my love. You should trust my experience. _Más sabe el diablo por viejo que por diablo*, _you know..."

* * *

Erik´s comings and goings, his frequent absences, and his habit of closeting himself in his study to use the telephone or pc – all of these came to an abrupt end one day.

"_This _has been my – _our – _project these many months, Christine. Do you like it?" he asked her.

They stood outside a Tudor-style mansion, stuccoed and half-timbered, with a great deal of brickwork in its façade.

"I love it," she breathed, as indeed she did. He had listened to her over their years of marriage – every word she had said regarding her favourite architectural ideal now stood before her in stone, oak, and fresh paint. She glanced up at a copper arrow weathervane; a wind was blowing from the north, and there was a November chill to the air.

Erik closed the car door briskly and guided Christine by the elbow, past the parterre garden and through the front door. Her senses barely registered anything, so overwhelmed was she by the enormity of what Erik had constructed…or restored, rather.

"It is much more difficult for an architect to deal with a restoration than an original project," Erik was explaining. "Now, this is a turn-of-the-century house – owned by a robber baron once, you know, and he devoted very little space to a library, so I combined two rooms and eliminated an archway…and there was a hothouse addition which I converted into a sunroom. Of course, there was a great deal of retrofitting…there was ventilation to consider, all those wiring headaches, heating ducts, and a host of other matters…"

Erik´s enthusiasm continued as he guided Christine through a tour of the house, pointing out details of particular interest. He had already furnished it, and she felt a pang of disappointment. There was little left for _her _to do, it seemed. As Erik showed her the fully-furnished nursery, complete with a comfortable connecting room for a nanny, Christine finally found her voice.

"I´ve told you Erik – we won´t be needing a nanny."

"We will discuss that later, my love … of course, we will be moving things from our present home to this new one. You shall have a staff to supervise now, including a cook…"

"A _cook_? But I love to cook!" Christine protested.

"I have been selfish," Erik continued, as though he had not heard her. "Our privacy has been too dear to me. Yet I shall miss our time together, the two of us, alone."

Christine ignored the sadness she saw in his eyes. Late-afternoon sunlight filtered through the white eyelet curtains in the nursery, and the smell of fresh paint and varnish mingled with each other. Expectation hung suspended in the air – a house not yet lived in awaited them, _the house of her dreams. _

"I´m not ready to be the lady of the manor, Erik," she said, and winced at the whining tone which had entered her voice. How could she explain to him that it was all too much, too suddenly? She decided to focus on her husband´s known weaknesses.

She continued hurriedly, before she could really sort out her thoughts. "Didn´t you always just hate the idea of disturbing our privacy? Think of what our lives will be like if we take on so much help! It won´t be just you and me and the baby, it´ll involve more people, strangers even!"

Erik stood listening to her silently, his dark brow furrowed; his amber eyes seemed to reflect the sunlight´s glow, and his mask was searingly white in the lightness of the nursery.

Christine permitted herself an awkward pause and tried to interpret her feelings as Erik scrutinized her. She should be happy, she knew. She had always hated Erik´s house – _the Bunker_, with its antechambers and all those stainless steel doors with locks she could scarcely understand. She had even hated the skylights which provided the only glimpse of outdoors she was afforded during her days there. She was too often reminded of all that was missing and of how odd her situation was; something as ordinary as choosing curtains was unnecessary. Who needed curtains for a skylight? Yet she had gazed up at the stars with Erik, even during those nights when she had thought herself to be nothing but a package that her husband was interested in _unwrapping_, but not opening. What truly had lain within her while his hands had caressed her flesh had remained hidden, unexamined. Or so she had thought.

"You were listening to me all along," she mused to him aloud, and she strolled out the corridor and slowly entered the living room, which was huge and boasted an enormous fireplace framed in granite. Erik followed her closely.

"You´ve given me the house of my dreams, Erik," she continued, "but it´s so much _larger_ than it ever was in any of those dreams! I know it will take a staff to run this place, but I wish we could be alone. Do you remember when you married me? I was head over heels over you, but I thought you couldn´t stand the sight of me – no, don´t worry, I´m not blaming you! But now that we finally understand each other, now that we finally are _together, _we´re going to have more people in our lives. And, of course, the baby. I´d like us to bond as a family, Erik, without a nanny."

He stood before her, earnest and unsmiling, and his hands moved from her shoulders to her upper arms, holding her in a gentle grip. "The master bedroom suite will be off limits to staff. We shall have all the privacy we desire. The nanny will take charge of the baby."

"But _I _want to be in charge of the baby…"

"And so you will be, but I shall not lose you to the needs of an infant tyrant."

"_Tyrant?_ Erik, that´s our baby you´re talking about!"

"I am well aware of that. Permit me to clarify something to you, Christine: above all other things, you are my wife, and I wish for you to continue being my wife. That shall never change. I will not relinquish you.

"Another thing: as soon as the baby comes, we will be concentrating on your career. Do you think that I transformed your voice because it happens to be a peculiar hobby of mine? I may be considered eccentric, but there is always a method to my madness, as you may have observed. There will be a series of recitals about three months from now…"

In spite of her chagrin, Christine found her voice and interrupted Erik. "And what about the baby?"

"What do you mean?"

"I thought you were thrilled at becoming a father. What´s happened? Don´t you want our baby?"

"I am thrilled – above all, I am grateful, and you know perfectly well why. This child brought you back to me. You could have … _lost_ this life, but you chose not to, you chose to yield yourself to what the heavens intended for us. That does not mean that I will permit our child to be reared in an atmosphere of ruinous indulgence. More importantly, I would not wish to see you exhausted."

"I won´t mind the exhaustion! It´s normal! How much trouble can a baby be, anyway?" retorted Christine, and a note of hysteria had crept into her voice. She moved into the fireplace and blinked upwards, but the damper was closed, so she only saw blackness.

Erik, who had released her, came towards her now.

"Come out of there," he said, reaching for her hand.

She pulled back. "No," she said. There was something childish about it, but instinct had stirred within her and informed her that there was something about her standing in the fireplace which Erik found disturbing.

"_Now_!" he barked, but she continued to pull away from him.

"I don´t want a nanny!" she insisted. "You can´t force one on me!"

He was truly becoming upset now, but his voice became gentle as he beckoned her towards him.

"Very well…it will be as you wish, then," he said, and she permitted Erik to pull her into his embrace. The baby moved and stretched between them lazily.

* * *

As Erik had suspected, Christine was not prepared to yield to his will. She had decided that she wished to face Ashley in court in spite of his opposition. Feeling somewhat buoyed by her victory over Erik in the matter of the nanny, she left the house on the pretence of spending the afternoon browsing the antiques shops with Meg.

"I want to find a rocking chair for the nursery," she told her husband, smiling.

He paused to look at her, a delicate metal file in his hand. She had deliberately waited until Erik had immersed himself in a difficult task before offhandedly announcing her plans for the outing. The new house had now become their official residence, but Erik, ever the perfectionist, continued to work on such minutiae as a glass pane in a leaded window which he had discovered to be loose. As Christine had hoped, he seemed absorbed in his task and nodded at her absently.

* * *

"I can´t believe I´m going to the DA´s office with you! Why did I let you talk me into this?" moaned Meg for the millionth time as she steered her Subaru through heavy downtown traffic.

"Because we´ve been friends forever? Because we´ve been through it all together?"

"I don´t know how I let you draw me into these things! And with the husband _you_ have, too. Just how do you think you´re going to sneak this by him? I´ve heard about how much he´s controlled the witnesses, you know. I talked with Raoul the other day – he´s been given a script by your husband, and he´s sticking to it. And it´s not just him…"

"How is Raoul?" interrupted Christine sullenly. She had not spoken with Raoul since the night Erik had burned down Ashley´s house.

"Living with Angela now. He calls me from time to time, you know, and he asks about you. Why don´t you ever call him?"

"Why do you think?"

"Okay, okay. Well Raoul´s okay, and he and Angela are good together. What do you think of her?"

Christine looked startled. "I´m sorry?"

"What do you think of Angela? You know, for Raoul?"

"Well, she´s always been nice to _him…_"

"Yes! That´s _exactly _what I mean! The thing about Angela is that she´s not a nice person. She´s only nice to people if there´s something in it for her, you know?"

"So you think that she´s faking her feelings for Raoul?"

"No – that´s the funny part. I think she really loves him. She´ll be nice to his friends for his sake, but the only person she can stand, in the whole world, is Raoul!"

"Yeah, that´s weird, isn´t it? But I think you´re right," mused Christine.

Meg glanced at Christine as she pulled into the parking lot nearest the district attorney´s office and rolled her window down to accept the ticket from the machine. The barrier went up.

"_You _should talk about weird! I hear that _you_ are the only person on the planet that Erik St. Amand can tolerate…" Meg said, and held the ticket in her mouth, her lips pressed tightly over one edge as it pointed resolutely ahead. She rolled her window up, shifted into second gear and began to look for an empty space.

"That´s not really true. Erik´s nice to your mom, and he´s sometimes nice to Nadir," protested Christine.

Meg turned to stare at her in disbelief. Her eyes were wide, and the parking ticket hung limply over her chin. Christine bit her lips in an effort not to laugh, and as she watched, Meg´s eyes began to water and she turned beet red.

"_Pah_!" Meg exploded into hysterical laughter, and the ticket lay on her lap. "Erik St. Amand…_nice_ to my mom?" she giggled. "Oh, that´s a good one!"

"Now, Meg…"

"Forget it. Forget it, okay? We can talk about it later. Time for you to face that dragon of a DA."

* * *

* "The devil knows more because he´s old than because he´s a devil."


	18. Chapter 18

**My apologies for the time elapsed between updates! I´ve been through a long crisis, as some of you know, and I wish to thank everyone whose kind good wishes have helped pull me through. I´m also grateful to those who have missed this story and have given me the occasional "nudge."  
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**I´m hoping to settle into a more consistent update schedule now as I bring this story slowly to a close. I thank you all for your patience with me and for continuing to read this story! As always, I have appreciated your feedback as well.**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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Ashley sat disconsolately in her cell, waiting, careful not to let any emotion show. The guards might see her torment, and that would be an error indeed. She glanced out of the corner of her eye, not even turning her head. _There! _One of the guards was just at the edge of her vision, and she was watching her speculatively. She had offered them bribes of every kind she could imagine, adding incentives as the days had gone by. Some of the guards had appeared to yield gradually to temptation. And one of them was _hers_, she knew it.

There was a clank of metal, a slight breeze, and a draft moved through the cell. The light seemed to flicker with shadows, then a long shadow darkened the doorway. She smiled.

"I knew you would come sooner or later."

Erik ignored her lie and the false confidence she exuded as he entered her cell. The guards had disappeared completely.

Ashley was unimpressed by the fact that he seemed to have entered _through _the iron-barred door without even opening it. _An illusionist, to the end. But that´s what you are. Nothing but an illusionist. _

Erik stood, observing her for a few moments, and his eyes glittered coldly in the prison gloom.

"You know exactly why I am visiting you," he murmured. His syllables seemed to echo and hiss off the concrete walls.

"Yeah, I know," said Ashley, and her fingers trembled slightly as she fished a cigarette out of a pack which was beside her on the cot. She gritted her teeth.

"You should loosen your jaw muscles, Madame," said Erik. "Such tension could crack your molars."

_Bastard! _ "Just a bad habit of mine," responded Ashley. She was doing her best to preserve the illusion of calm, but it was a hopeless enterprise, since she was now facing the world´s greatest illusionist. She lit her cigarette and stared at the shadow that was Erik through narrowed eyes. The room was not so dim. Why was it that she could not see him clearly, then?

"My wife will _not _be obliged to testify at your trial," he said quietly.

Ashley snorted. "That´s not what the judge will say. She´s going to get subpoenaed, and she´ll have to testify, and won´t she be happy to see _me_ again?" She licked her lips slowly, her eyes on Erik.

Erik remained standing before her; his eyes were watchful, but they betrayed no emotion. Ashley observed him, then took a long drag from her cigarette. Her eyes darted to the hallway behind him, then focused on his figure once more.

"You´ve been just staring at me for a long time," Ashley said, her voice low and seductive. "See something you like?" She stood and advanced towards him.

Behind them, there came a noisy _click,_ then another – then another. The frustrated guard lowered the gun he had aimed at Erik´s head to look at it in wonder.

"_Shit!_" screeched Ashley, and she flew at Erik, her arms raised, but he easily gripped her wrists. She wrestled to free herself and landed an angry kick on his shin.

"Are you quite finished yet?" asked Erik in tones of tired patience. "My time is limited. I knew of your dealings with some of the guards in this building, and I took the precaution of having their Glocks divested of ammunition."

He turned his face slightly away from Ashley´s pale countenance to look at the guard, who promptly turned and fled without having spoken a word.

Erik chuckled. "Someone will be waiting for him. He, too, is in for a nasty surprise. As for you…" he said, and his voice became a metallic growl as he nearly pounded a syringe into her arm, "Prepare to enjoy the effects of some of the pharmaceuticals you so relentlessly sought!"

The last image Ashley remembered as she fell to her knees, completely lost, was of Erik´s yellow eyes, burning cold.

* * *

"He sure knows how to make a person wait," said Meg as she looked at her watch yet again.

Christine sighed and nodded in agreement. The District Attorney was very late for his appointment with her – two hours late now. They had been ushered into his office and offered coffee, but they had been unable to relax. It was clear that _something was going on. _The office was buzzing with frantic activity. Staffers were looking through filing cabinets, while one assistant, his bald head beaded with sweat, stared unblinking at a computer terminal, typing things in frantically. He cursed under his breath with increasing regularity.

As absorbed as the women were by the human whirlwind, they began to notice the time only after an entire hour had elapsed.

"Well, if Mr. Kristol has been detained, we can come back at another time," said Christine, and she and Meg started to rise.

"No!" the bald man at the computer barked, suddenly acutely aware of the women. Noticing that he had caused Christine to jump, he held his hands up apologetically, closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and pulled a handkerchief out of his trousers pocket. He mopped his brow, then looked at Christine.

"Please stay. We´ve had…we´ve had several things go wrong today, and I think that Mr. Kristol might need to talk to you…talk to you urgently."

"I´m intrigued, Mr. – " started Christine.

"You can call me David, Ma'am…"

"David. I´m intrigued, I must admit – why would Mr. Kristol need to talk with me urgently?"

"I…I can´t exactly tell you now, but…" said David. The telephone rang, and he hastened to answer it, quickly becoming absorbed in a tense _sotto voce_ conversation.

"Well, now, that´s beyond rude!" exclaimed Meg, pounding on the arm of her chair in exasperation. "We should go now. I don´t know how much we´re going to end up paying just for parking!"

"I don´t think we should go, Meg. Please stay with me. Please do me this favour. I don´t know what´s going on, but it´s making me nervous."

Meg settled into her chair with a resigned sigh, picked up a magazine, and began flipping through its pages and snorting at the models. She spent the better part of the next hour entertaining Christine with a running commentary on the intimate lives of the supermodels she loved to hate.

"This one had her boobs done…_twice! _She didn´t get big enough the first time, and she wanted to be a double-D size, so she plopped down more money…oh, and Janis here used to go out with Brad Pitt´s cousin, but he turned around and when they paid him enough he told the world that she was doing heroin and so she dumped him…he didn´t look much like Brad Pitt anyway, himself…and did you hear about Tanya´s divorce?"

By the time Meg had arrived at a thorough analysis of famous sex lives, a slight man in a dark grey suit had breezed into the room. He glanced at Christine and Meg, then hurried to David, with whom he had a quick, quiet conversation. Christine observed that David was shaking his head a great deal. Finally, he turned towards her and approached to shake her hand.

"You´re Mr. Kristol, then?" she inquired.

He nodded. "I apologize for making you wait so long, but something has happened. I honestly can´t imagine _what_, exactly…" He gave her a long, thoughtful look.

"What happened?" asked Meg abruptly. She was completely out of patience now.

"The computer went down this morning. When it finally came up again, no trace of the Ashley Jacobs case remained accessible. We´re sure it has to be somewhere on the hard disk, but we´re going to have to call in somebody who knows how to retrieve the lost files."

"Oh, my God," moaned Christine, her head in her hands.

"There´s another thing. There is nothing left _on paper_ pertaining to the Jacobs case," continued Kristol. "That´s the strangest thing. Nothing in our files at all. Now, I can´t begin to work with you and your testimony unless I have _something _more than I have now, Mrs. St. Amand."

"I understand," Christine mumbled.

"Christine," said Meg, "You don´t think –"

"Of course I do!" snapped Christine, and she mouthed something at Meg which silenced her.

Mr. Kristol had watched the entire exchange with a sharp gaze. "Mrs. St. Amand…Perhaps you have some idea as to how this situation might have arisen?"

Christine rose to her feet with all the dignity her late pregnancy would permit her. "No, Mr. Kristol. I haven´t the slightest idea what might have happened."

As the women began to leave, David, who had just answered the phone again, held up a hand in a stern gesture calculated to stop them in their tracks. He put his hand over the receiver.

"Ashley Jacobs has disappeared from her cell."

* * *

Erik was in the garden, speaking with Jeanne Guiry, when Christine and Meg pulled into the drive. He seemed to be scrutinizing the foliage on a Catalpa tree as he chatted with her, and he completely ignored his wife´s arrival.

"Christine, wait!" shouted Meg, but Christine was beside herself and flew out of the car and towards Erik, who glanced towards her, then watched her progress, frowning, as she approached him.

Jeanne was alarmed. "You shouldn´t run in your state, Christine? Isn´t your due date in only two weeks?"

Christine ignored her. "Problems with worms, Erik?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The Catalpa tree. Does it have worms? Do you need to fumigate? Is there something you need to kill? Was there _someone you needed to kill_?" She was flushed and panting.

"I think your _shopping trip_ must have exhausted you, Christine," Erik remarked coolly.

"You know perfectly well where I´ve been," she snapped.

Erik looked at her in silence, his face inscrutable, and there was an awkward silence that seemed to drag out for hours.

By this time, Meg had caught up with Christine and looked at the tableau before her. Husband and wife seemed to be having a silent standoff, and her mother had gone white.

Finally, Jeanne turned towards Meg and broke the tense silence. "How was your appointment with the District Attorney, dear?"

"So, you even told _Mrs. Guiry_ where we really were?" exploded Christine.

"Does it offend you?" inquired Erik, lifting his brow.

"What did you do with Ashley, Erik?"

Christine was trembling with emotion, and as Erik moved towards her, his hand poised to support her elbow, she backed away, stumbling. He caught her easily, one hand supporting her at the small of her back, the other gripping her upper arm gently but firmly. A breeze ruffled his hair as he scrutinized her, scowling with worry.

"I think that we should go, Meg," came Jeanne´s voice.

"I´ll go when Christine wants me to," responded Meg with a touch of resentment.

"She wants you to," snapped Jeanne, "Trust me."

"No, I don´t," quavered Christine. "Meg´s been a great friend and I want her here with me. Anyway, she has the right to hear what´s happened. What did you do, Erik?"

"Nothing you would disapprove of, under the circumstances," said Erik briefly, then pressed his lips together firmly. His eyes darted to the drive, then back to Christine, but she followed his glance and noticed that Nadir had driven in and was now parking behind Meg´s Subaru.

"What are _you _doing here, anyway, Mom?" asked Meg, turning to confront her mother now.

Jeanne lifted her chin. "I was asked to come. It seems that Erik and Christine wish for help with the baby, and I may serve as a nanny, at least temporarily, once the child arrives."

Meg´s jaw dropped. "No! The Mother of the Year and poster child for Temperance is going to look after a _baby_?"

There was a shocked silence.

"I was always a good mother to you, Meg…always!" protested Jeanne, and she turned her face away from her daughter, and Christine saw the tears in her eyes before she wiped them away with a brisk hand.

"Now, Meg, that´s not fair…" began Christine, then became distracted as she glanced in Nadir´s direction. He had gotten out of his car and now hesitated, looking at the group.

"_You_ don´t know her!" spat Meg, turning slightly to address Christine.

"Well, _you _certainly don´t know me," retorted Jeanne heatedly.

In the drive, Nadir nodded at some signal Erik had communicated to him and started to get back into his car.

"No!" shouted Christine, and she moved towards Nadir. Erik´s hand on her arm stopped her, but she swung about and pushed against him frantically. "I want to talk to him! _He_ knows what´s going on! _He´ll_ tell me!"

Behind them, Jeanne and Meg´s voices were raised in a furious quarrel.

"Calm yourself," said Erik in a voice so soft that Christine was surprised that it cut through the noise to their rear. "Whatever you wish to know, you shall know."

He gestured towards Nadir, who noticed the motion and stopped his car just as he was pulling away. With his hand still firmly gripping Christine´s arm, he escorted her towards the detective.

"What´s going on?" Nadir asked, as they approached. He looked genuinely confused.

"I want to know what happened to Ashley!" Christine exclaimed heatedly.

"What happened to Ashley?" repeated Nadir, scratching his head.

"He does not know, Christine, but I assure you that I have not ended her life," Erik said in soothing tones, as if to a child.

"Then, tell me…"

"No."

"I can only assume the worst!"

"As you always have? Very well, Christine. Since your trust in me appears to be nil, and I wish you to be at peace, I invite you to extract all the information you desire from me." As Erik spoke, he took a syringe from his coat pocket, uncapped it, and pushed the plunger down to adjust the dosage of some clear liquid within.

"Seventy-five milligrams of truth!" announced Erik. "Behold the substance behind the deaths which have so tormented us!"

Christine was frozen with shock, but she accepted the syringe which Erik now carefully handed her and watched as he removed his coat, handed it to Nadir, and rolled up his sleeve.

"This vein, I think," he said. "If you need help, I´m sure Nadir can assist you!"

Christine shook her head.

"Come, now, it won´t kill me, I assure you! You will have perfect liberty to ask me any question you wish, and the peculiarities of the molecular structure of this _veritas _will oblige me to answer you with nothing less than the absolute truth."

"No. I won´t do that to you!" Christine answered. "I can´t!"

"But you accuse me so easily of dealing death to a woman. Is that not much worse? After all, I am a man of principles, Christine!"

"Do you always carry this syringe around in your coat pocket, Erik?"

"Only on special occasions, and today presented me wish such an occasion. Yet it would be much better if you did not ask me any questions about it…not yet. Unless you insist…"

"No…no, Erik," said Christine, shaking her head rapidly. She held the syringe, which Erik had capped as a precaution, away from herself; it dangled between her index finger and thumb.

"I´ll take that," said Nadir, and snatched it away from her. "Erik, I think she´s had enough today."

"I believe you have," said Erik, kissing Christine lightly on her forehead and holding her as closely as her pregnant form would permit.

"I´m going to lie down for a while, I think," she said quietly, and without another word, she started towards the house.

The men watched her as she walked away, each lost in thought. Finally, Nadir looked at Erik.

"What would you have done if she had used the syringe on you? How would you have rescued the situation?" he asked.

Erik glanced at him. "She would never have been capable of it."

He followed Christine into the house, and Nadir watched him, shaking his head, and then turned his attention to Jeanne and Meg, who had apparently finished quarrelling. Meg was sprinting down to her car indignantly, and Jeanne was following her slowly, her hands on her hips.

* * *

Christine was amazed to find that Ashley´s disappearance was not mentioned in the Press. It was as though she had never existed. She had no idea what the District Attorney´s office or the police might be doing about the matter. If every trace of Ashley and her crimes had been erased from every known file in existence, digital or otherwise, she suspected that Mr. Kristol was at a loss as to what to do. Erik now refused to cooperate with the DA´s office in new and creative ways, and there was not one witness to Ashley´s conspiracy who would speak with anybody about the matter.

Erik shielded Christine from any contact with Kristol and his office now. He shielded her from everything, in fact. Her due date had arrived without any sign of labor, and one day followed another thereafter without incident. Erik hovered nervously over Christine and accompanied her to daily visits to the obstetrician, whose assurances that all was well did little to calm him.

Christine herself faced the situation with weary resignation. She had put some finishing touches on the nursery, and Jeanne had assembled all the baby clothes and equipment that a new mother might need.

Jeanne and Nadir had supervised the hiring of new staff. A new cook and five maids now helped with the running of the household, but Christine was adamant in her refusal of a full-time nanny; Jeanne could help her out during the first few months, Christine insisted.

By the time the baby was five days overdue, Christine was biting her nails, a habit that she had abandoned when she was twelve. Erik, Jeanne, and the entire staff hovered, stared, danced attendance, and asked her how she felt incessantly. She felt as if she had somehow failed at something – _failed to deliver, _so far – and she was deathly tired of her pregnancy.

Finally, she called Meg, happy that the weekend had arrived and her friend would be free. She felt a pang; Meg and her mother were no longer on speaking terms.

"Hey, what are you doing still at home?" Meg´s voice greeted her, amused.

"_Not_ having a baby. Look, do you think we could go shopping together – for real, this time? I´m sick and tired of hanging around the house!"

"_Shopping_? Girl, are you crazy? What if you go into labor? I sure wouldn´t know what to do!"

"Look, Meg, people don´t just go into labor and push out a baby in a question of an hour or two, especially if it´s a first baby. Don´t worry! So far, there´s not a single sign that the baby wants to come. This could go on for days yet!"

"Right," said Meg dubiously.

"Please?"

"Okay, okay," sighed Meg. "It could be fun, I guess. Our last blast!"

* * *

Erik had been livid at the idea that Christine might leave the house, but she had become so distraught when faced by his opposition that he had relented – unhappily, of course.

"At the very first sign of anything –" he began.

"Erik, I´ll call you. See? I have my phone! Battery´s all charged! Besides, we´ll only be four or five miles away!"

Still, he watched her from the doorway as she left with Meg, his eyes dark with worry.


	19. Chapter 19

**Many thanks to all who continue to read, and especially to those who have reviewed. Your feedback is much appreciated! **

**I do not own POTO, or its characters. **

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Christine and Meg had arrived early in the day, so the West Hills Mall was not crowded. For the first time in a long time, Christine felt relaxed, and she strolled from shop to shop, enjoying the feel of normalcy, of looking through shop windows and deriding the latest fashions with Meg. She almost felt younger – until she looked down at her midriff. She avoided looking at herself, then, studiously ignoring her reflection in shop windows.

"They expect us to wear heels like _those_?" she chortled to Meg. "I mean, it´s one thing to wear those ultra-high heels if they make your legs look sexy, but another thing if you´re just wearing shoes that are ugly on you."

"Yeah, they´re ugly all right," agreed Meg. "I wouldn't be caught dead in them, myself. You know that! When I´m not working, I like to baby my poor old dogs!"

Christine looked down at Meg´s feet. She was shod in sensible flats, but she was standing with her toes pointed out at a wide angle from each other, a dead giveaway that she was a dancer. Christine smiled, but her smile faded as she listened to Meg´s next comment.

"_You _don´t have to worry about wearing what´s in fashion – not for a while, anyway."

Her own reflection in the display window suddenly became visible to Christine, and she observed herself quietly for a moment. She was wearing a dark designer dress suitable to the season and the colder weather, but she was reminded yet again of something important: the dress did not cause an impression on people. She was so heavily pregnant that when people saw her they noticed only her pregnancy.

"I´m out of the race," she said aloud.

"Don´t worry; you´re not out of the _human _race – just _the race_," Meg hastened to clarify. "You´ve got an adoring husband, you´re about to have a kid, and you´re going to be busy with all that homemaking stuff for a while."

"That _doesn´t _mean that I shouldn´t try to look attractive and stylish while all this is going on in my life!" Christine flushed as she said this – her thoughts had pivoted involuntarily to Erik, who made it plain that he considered her attractive indeed, even in her advanced state.

"It´s just that it´s going to be harder for you to keep up the effort. You´ll have a baby to take care of, you´ll be losing sleep – aren´t you planning to breast feed?"

"Of course I am! But how much trouble can a little baby be? Most people have kids sooner or later, and it´s time-consuming, but it can´t be that hard!"

Meg´s jaw dropped, and she stared at Christine for a minute before she was capable of speech. "When we were in high school, I used to babysit a lot, do you remember? Have you ever babysat, Christine?"

"I used to look after Tod Edwards some nights when his parents went out…" murmured Christine defensively.

"Tod Edwards was _eight years old_!" snorted Meg. "You mostly had that job at the supermarket in the afternoons, so you really weren´t around babies much, were you?"

Christine was silent, but waved a dismissive hand.

"You really have no idea how hard it´s going to be, do you, Christine?"

"Well, of course it´s going to be hard. Especially labor…"

"That´s the least of it!" Meg spat. "Labor lasts hours, but it _ends. _Christine, once you have a baby, you _have_ it!"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Have you ever really been around a new mother? Felt how preoccupied they all are? They´re scared shitless all the time, because now they´re taking care of a howling mess that´s at the center of their lives. So many things could happen that could ruin not one, but two, three or more lives now! So they´re concentrated on this _precious_ little tyrant that´s come into their lives…"

"You make it sound terrible! I love my baby – I love it already, and I always will!" snapped Christine.

"Love is a lot of work – well, _this_ kind is. You´ve been really involved with your husband, haven´t you? I know you´ve had a hard time with him and you´re just beginning to see eye to eye with him, but is it possible that you´ve been so involved with him that you really haven´t given much thought to what´s about to hit you?"

"_Hit _me!" Christine exclaimed in reproachful tones. "Meg…"

"No, no," said Meg, holding up her hands and shaking her head. "There´s no way I can convince you – no way."

Christine flushed crimson with anger. "You don´t know me – you once thought that I was capable of running off with your boyfriend – remember?"

Meg looked down. "We´ve been through that, Christine, and you know I´m sorry. I wasn´t myself then. But, believe me, this is different."

"Uh-huh."

"Listen, Christine, I´m your friend. I may not always have been the best friend in the world, but I think that you´re going to need one, and soon. You´re going to have that baby, and you´re going to see what it´s all about, and I´m going to be around as much as I can to help out – my work permitting."

"Er…thanks," said Christine, shaking her head in confusion. She looked at her friend, curious. "You don´t want children yourself, someday? You make it sound so bad."

"First of all, in case you haven´t noticed, I have very bad luck with men. You need to have better luck than that to even think of having kids – which I won´t ever do, by the way, because I won´t ever have kids."

"I thought you liked kids."

"Oh, I adore 'em! That doesn´t mean I need to take one home. I just don´t want to go through the whole motherhood thing, Christine. I don´t want to leave _myself_ behind that way. And you´ll see – you´ll end up leaving yourself behind."

* * *

Meg became impatient with West Hills Mall within two hours.

"The pickings here were better before Hypermall Suburbiana came along. Why don´t we go there? This place is dying."

"What, that big, enormous place? On a Saturday?"

"Hey, I´m the one doing the driving, so _you_ won´t have to worry about the trip or parking."

"But I told Erik…"

"It´s just two miles farther away! And it´s just another mall! Geez, with the control freak! You´re not going into labor now, are you? How are you feeling?"

"I´m fine, Meg. Just fine. I have a bit of a backache, but I think I must have pulled a muscle or something."

"Don´t talk to a dancer about pulled muscles!" said Meg, rolling her eyes. "Hypermall Suburbiana, here we come!"

* * *

Hypermall Suburbiana was a behemoth, the _ne plus ultra_ of suburban shopping malls. It boasted the most square feet of retail space in the state, an enormous skating rink, two bowling alleys, and a huge exhibits hall that could double as a ballroom – besides the obligatory anchor department stores and dozens of shops.

Christine had heard a great deal about this new mall but had never seen it before, and she was amazed by how extensive the parking area was. Trackless trams ran from strategic points of the car park to drop people off in front of the mall, saving shoppers a long walk. In spite of these facilities, however, the parking lots were full, and cars circled about, looking for any space which might have been overlooked. It was clear that there were none.

Meg and Christine joined the safari of space-hunting cars, slowing down at every sign of movement near a parked car.

"We don´t need to shop here, you know," said Christine, after about fifteen minutes. "Why don´t we look for a place to have lunch or something?"

"We´ll have lunch here once we park, okay?" said Meg, setting her jaw. "Look…there´s someone loaded with bags. She´ll be going back to her car…"

Meg began to follow the pedestrian, a woman in a bulky sweater, as she ambled along, hauling several bags. She finally stopped, opened the trunk of a Cadillac, put her packages inside, and closed it. She turned and, seeing Meg waiting with her signal on, shook her head apologetically and started to retrace her steps.

"Damn it!" spat Meg, and she was about to continue her search when Christine glanced to the left – and saw a car beginning to pull out of a space on that side.

"Meg!" She pointed.

"I see it!" Meg maneuvered quickly, and just as the car had left enough space clear, she inserted her Subaru into the space in what constituted the neatest parking job Christine had ever seen. She was about to congratulate Meg on her prowess, when a loud metallic sound indicated that someone had bumped their car from the rear.

"What the --?" muttered Meg, and as she started to get out of the car to investigate, Christine flailed towards her. "Wait!" she said, reaching to pull her back inside, but it was too late.

"You _bitch_!" roared a masculine voice, and Christine watched, horrified, as a squarely-built man in his twenties confronted Meg on the driver's side of the car. She glanced towards their rear and saw that he had left his car as it was after he had hit them – still in contact with the Subaru´s bumper.

"I was waiting for that space, and you knew it!" The man continued, his spittle flying into Meg´s face. He was red with rage, and dark stubble populated his chin and cheeks, though his head was shaved. He wore a black bomber jacket, jeans, and boots, and his breath steamed as he bellowed.

Meg looked stunned, but quickly regained her composure and, much to her credit, faced the man without stepping back. Christine began to get out of the car cautiously, and she could hear the sound of a car door slamming: the man´s wife or girlfriend had left his car and was now approaching the party, shouting something that Christine could not understand at first.

"…You give them bitches hell, baby, that´s right – that´ll learn 'em to do that kid o' shit…!" She wore a tight sweater, jeans, and too much makeup, and she swayed slightly as she walked.

The man turned on her. "_You_ shut up and get back in the car!"

The woman giggled and stood her ground, watching.

"Look, I didn´t notice that there was anyone waiting for this space, and if I had seen you…" started Meg, her arms folded defensively in front of her.

"Don´t you lie to me, now – don´t you lie, bitch! You sure as hell saw me there!"

Christine was certain she had seen the man´s car approaching rapidly from a distance just before Meg had parked – certainly not _waiting_ for the space, but she tried to make peace nonetheless.

"It´s me you should blame if we got in front of you," said Christine, "since I´m the one who saw the space and told her to park here."

The man looked at her, and her heart sank. She knew from the expression in his eyes that he had not noticed her pregnancy, which in fact was hidden by the car separating them. He moved around Meg and started to approach Christine.

Meg went pale. "No!" she said, and she followed him quickly and snatched at the back of his jacket to stop him. The man turned and pushed her with such force that she landed on the ground. As he continued towards Christine, she noticed that cars were stopping and people were beginning to get out, their faces masks of curiosity and alarm.

"Shit!" he exclaimed as he stopped in front of Christine, his eyes raking over her. "Tell me, honey, how many guys did it take to get you THAT pregnant?"

Christine felt the heat rush to the roots of her hair, but she stood her ground. Meg had picked herself up and was just behind the man, approaching him; her arm reached out towards him, but she froze, her frightened stare focused just beyond Christine´s right shoulder.

"Why so startled, Miss Guiry?" came Erik´s voice, and Christine turned to see him approaching them at a leisurely pace. He was dressed in dark clothing, as ever – black shoe leather, dark suit, a black loden coat topping it all, and even his hands were sheathed in black leather gloves. Christine had expected him to pounce on her and pull her out of harm´s way, so she was amazed when he glided past her on the right – then passed her antagonist – then passed Meg. He glanced quickly at the man and wheeled around, his eyes narrowed, and a thrill of dread shook Christine. She was grateful never to have been the recipient of such a look from her husband.

"Those eyes," she heard Meg whisper.

The burly man had stood frozen and speechless during all this, his eyes trained on Erik, and now Erik flicked a lazy hand, and the man grasped at his throat. His eyes focused pleadingly on Erik, whose left hand seemed to pull and release at something…pull and release…as though he were flying a kite.

"I cannot imagine what all this fuss is about," Erik remarked, his voice like Spanish steel sheathed in finest silk velvet. The people who had started to congregate now returned to their cars, pacified by the apparent lack of activity displayed by the group of people near the car. Something about the dark man with the bone-white half-mask made them uncomfortable -- almost frightened, besides. They left.

The man was turning a deep purple now, his eyes still fixed on Erik, whose glare was still imprisoning what was left of his victim´s mind and reflexes.

Even the man´s girlfriend was speechless and noiseless, and she watched, gawking stupidly, as his struggle for air continued.

As Christine watched, captivated, trying to _see _what instrument her husband was using, her mind oddly fuzzy, she _felt something _– and emerged into self-awareness…and self-consciousness. Had she wet herself? No, of course not! But something warm and wet was leaking down from between her thighs. She looked down in alarm.

The man fell to his knees, gasping and gulping in great breaths of air, and Erik´s arm supported Christine – though she didn´t need support. She needed…

"A towel," she murmured. "A towel would be nice."

"You…you have…" said Erik. She looked at him and noticed that he had changed completely in the space of several seconds. His eyes were wild, almost panicked.

"I just broke water. But I don´t feel a thing!"

"Oh, my God!" said Meg.

"OH, MY GOD!" screamed the man´s girlfriend, suddenly finding her voice with a vengeance. "What did you do?" She flew towards Erik, who did not even glance in her direction. Meg stepped between the two, and taking a can of pepper spray she had extracted from her purse during the confrontation, she sprayed the woman full in the face.

"Wow. I was wondering if this worked!" said Meg happily. The woman was now hunched over, moaning, her hands on her face, while her boyfriend was kneeling peacefully, his hands still rubbing his throat.

The veil of control fell over Erik´s eyes once more, and he quickly escorted Christine to where his car awaited.

"I can´t get in," Christine said, and Erik looked at her worriedly as he held the car door open, his gaze tense and questioning. "I´m leaking like crazy! And your leather seat…"

Erik sighed his relief and dipped his head to press a quick kiss on the corner of Christine´s mouth. Something about her worrying about his car seat had relaxed him.

"Get in, Christine," he said gently.

Christine turned to look behind them, and she saw that Meg was gesticulating and apparently trying to explain the recent turn of events to two security guards. She interrupted herself to wave cheerfully at Erik and Christine as they pulled away in his Volvo.

* * *

Christine had expected the rush of amniotic fluid that leaked from within her to stop, but it did not – it continued to pulse out gently and warmly, soaking her clothing. She glanced at Erik, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"You´ll have to change the upholstery," she said apologetically, indicating the car seat.

Erik glanced at her and chuckled. "Of course," he said and gave her a look of such warmth and affection that she felt a thrill, even in her nervous state.

He cloaked her in his loden coat as he brought her into the hospital emergency entrance.

* * *

_Routine. _That was the word Christine heard continually to describe her labor thereafter.

Her gradual labor pains, which started like menstrual pains and became stronger and closer together – those were routine.

Her long labor, which in the end would be 14 hours – that was routine, "especially for a first baby," as the nurses remarked.

As waves of pain assaulted her, the word _routine_ repeated itself over and over again in her head.

Then Erik, who had been sponging her brow and pacing around her nervously, finally collected himself and surprised her.

He spoke of his hopes for their future.

The music of his voice calmed her and even seemed to relieve much of her pain; she was forced to concentrate on his words, somehow. He surprised Christine – he barely spoke of the baby and its role in their lives. He spoke more of their lives as a couple, of the places he wished to take her, of the things that he wished for her to see. He spoke of her voice and his hopes for her career. He even spoke of his dreams for their retirement and old age.

"But, Erik! What about the baby?" Christine gasped.

"That is where we improvise," he said.

"What…what do you mean?"

* * *

The contractions came in closer, tighter waves now and choked off Christine´s ability to reason. She seemed to fade in and out of crushing pain, and five minutes seemed like an eternity. The eternity stretched on. She knew that Erik was nearby wearing hospital scrubs, but her entire being was now concentrating on one thing. The buzz in the delivery room surrounded her, bounced off of her.

The baby´s head crowned, and Christine bore down, seeking relief. It came when, finally, the baby´s shoulders, then, more quickly, the rest of its body, slipped out into waiting hands. She exhaled and closed her eyes, exhausted, and the voices in the room came into focus in the form of various conversations.

"I´ve never seen a father as cool as that man – the gore didn´t faze him a bit. When I think of all the men who´ve fainted in here…" A female voice, and a murmured response from another female voice.

"You…you´ve already cut the cord, sir? I´m sorry, but I didn´t hand you the scissors! What did you use? Was it sterile?"

"I assure you that it was a sterile instrument." Erik´s response.

"This is highly irregular. What did you -- ?"

The sound of a newborn´s impatient, hiccoughing first cries.

"A girl, Christine." Erik´s voice again, warm with – joy, perhaps?

* * *

"Tell me the truth. She´s kind of a conehead, isn´t she?" Christine asked Meg anxiously. Both watched as Erik paced the room with his daughter, listening to her as she babbled softly. He seemed to regard her with a type of bemused curiosity. She, in turn, did her best to look up at him, opening her blue eyes in a newborn´s photophobic squint time and again, trying her best to see Erik. She finally gave up, yawning, and started to go to sleep.

"Her head will look better in a few days – that´s what happens during the delivery process," interrupted a nurse who had entered the room on some errand and now exited quickly with a nervous glance in Erik´s direction. For some reason, the hospital staff seemed intimidated by him.

"That baby sure has the hair!" commented Meg. It was true: a shock of black hair was the only bit of baby visible to them in the pink blanket Erik cradled carefully in his arms, and there was a great deal of it.

Christine glanced at Meg, smiling. She was grateful to her friend for staying up all night at the hospital, waiting for news, and now she was thankful for her early-morning company.

There was a sharp knock at the door, and Jeanne appeared, carrying a bag. She froze as she saw Meg, and a flicker of pain crossed her face.

"It´s time for me to go," said Meg. "I need to feed the cat."

"But, Meg," said Christine, "You don´t have a cat!"

"I know," she said, and pushing past her mother, she left the room.

Jeanne rolled her eyes and entered.

"How are you feeling?" she asked Christine, smiling.

"Tired, and my arse smarts like crazy – I´ve got stitches in it!" responded Christine petulantly. "And you and Meg are still on the outs," she added quietly. Something about the conflict between mother and daughter upset her. Or perhaps it was just hormones. She sighed.

Erik´s glance flicked to Christine. Despite the baby in his arms, she could feel his eyes on her, observing her, assessing her.

Jeanne sorted through the bag she had brought. "I´ve brought more baby clothes – some nursing bras for Christine, pads in case she leaks…and _all is well_," she added, giving Erik a significant look.

Christine glanced at her suspiciously. What did she mean by that?

"No, all is _not _well," said Erik softly. "You and your daughter are in conflict. You will remedy that."

Jeanne snorted. "That´s easy for _you_ to say, Erik! You don´t know how obnoxious Meg is!"

"She will come around. You will apologize for reading her diary, you will assure her that you no longer drink, you will guarantee respect for her privacy, and you will work at gaining intimacy with her instead of trying to steal it through simple prying."

Jeanne was gaping at him now. "You don´t know…"

"Oh, but I _do_ know. You will solve this problem with your daughter, or I will step in and restore harmony myself."

"You _wouldn´t_!" Jeanne gasped. "You never cared, before --!"

"I do _now_. I will not have anything upsetting my family," he said, the steel underlying his voice warning her that he was serious.

The baby awakened and stirred in her father´s arms and tried once more to focus on his face. Jeanne watched her, and she could not help smiling. Then she laughed.

"So you´re a family man, now!" she chortled.

"Does that surprise you?" he asked, still the picture of calm.

Jeanne watched as he glanced surreptitiously at Christine for the thousandth time. "I guess not," she said. _It´s what he´s always wanted, but I never suspected it. And he has Christine exactly where he wants her!_

"Well, then, what have you decided to name the child?" asked Jeanne briskly, moving to a simpler topic of conversation.

"We´re naming her after my grandmothers," said Christine. "Evelyn Marie."

In her father´s arms, Evelyn cooed softly, clearly happy with her power to produce sounds of her own in this new, bright world.


	20. Chapter 20

**If I were in the habit of titling chapters, this one would be called the Chapter in Which Nothing Much Happens! This story is approaching its end, and there´s not much plot left to tie up.**

**My thanks to all who continue to read this story, and especially to those who have so kindly taken the trouble to give me their feedback. **

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

**

* * *

  
**

Christine held Evelyn in her arms, wincing with pain as she breastfed.

"The baby _learns_ how to breastfeed," the nurse had told her at the hospital, and it was true.

Now Evelyn worked hard to pull the milk down, beet-red and perspiring with the effort so that her fine black hair was soaked. Her hand, splayed free-form as a starfish, rested at the side of her mother´s ample breast, and Christine noted for the thousandth time the ineffable fragrance of _baby_ that wafted up to her, her baby´s perfect skin, delicate fingernails…

"_Ouch! You little barracuda_!" Christine gasped, careful to hold perfectly still. Evelyn had given her a particularly painful tug – it must have been successful, because she interrupted her efforts to cough, her mouth too full of milk. Then she applied herself to the effort once more.

"I´m _so sore_!" Christine moaned to herself tiredly.

"Is that _so?" _Erik commented softly, and Christine jumped, cursing her husband´s gift for entering the bedroom – or any room – as silently as a wraith.

"It´s not bad!" she said hastily.

There was a tacit battle raging between Erik and Christine once more. At issue was whether or not she would accept the help of a nanny. She had been horrified when she found that Nadir and Jeanne had screened and interviewed nannies for Evelyn, and Erik had finally chosen one.

"I _told_ you I don´t need a nanny! I want to be a real mother to Evelyn! And didn´t you say Mrs. Guiry was going to help out?" Christine had protested.

"Jeanne will be visiting whenever she can, Christine, but she decided to devote her spare time to resolving her problems with her own daughter rather than becoming involved with _ours,_" Erik had replied.

Jeanne had been helpful during Christine´s first fortnight at home, but she was not completely comfortable around Erik, and it was clear she never would be. Besides, her hours and projects as dance instructor at the university hardly permitted her much free time.

Yet Christine had refused the nanny.

Now Erik watched his wife as Evelyn alternated between dozing and half-wakeful attempts at nursing.

"Hey, wake up!" said Christine, patting the soles of Evelyn´s little feet. "You´re supposed to _finish!_"

Evelyn smacked her lips sleepily, opened her eyes a bit, then closed them. Christine placed her carefully over her shoulder to burp her, patting her back.

"Nothing," said Christine, sighing, when no belch arrived. "I guess I´ll put her down to rest, then."

"Please," said Erik, and he took Evelyn from Christine gently. Her eyes opened slightly, then widened as she tried to focus. As her vision had gradually begun to develop over her first days, her fascination with Erik´s face was becoming patent. She was as happy with her father unmasked as masked, and she made it clear that he was worth the fight to stay awake. She cooed softly as Erik positioned her carefully over her shoulder, leaned slightly backwards, and rubbed his hand over her little back. As he began to pat her back gently, Evelyn belched loudly. The baby´s wide-eyed surprise at her own noise caused Christine, who had now positioned herself behind Erik, to laugh.

Erik´s lips twitched. "It´s all in the angle, you see," he told Christine.

Laughter had caused Christine to relax for the first time in days, and Erik watched her with warmth in his eyes. Evelyn´s first two weeks at home had been difficult indeed for Christine, although she was loath to admit it. Evelyn had proven to be a very hungry baby, and when Christine´s milk had come down, she had decided that she wished to nurse every three hours – sometimes even more often.

Yet Evelyn was colicky, too, and would begin to fuss and cry in the evenings, when Christine was most exhausted. At first, the young mother had been alarmed when the baby cried for long periods of time. She was completely unable to comfort her. Erik had waited patiently during the first two nights as Christine paced with the child, fed her, then paced some more, feigning a strength which she did not have. Finally, on the third night, Christine had been fighting tears.

"I think we need to go to the doctor, Erik! Something is really bothering her!"

Erik had left the bed. "You will permit me?"

Placing Evelyn on his shoulder, he began to murmur, then to hum. Christine, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed wiping her nose with a Kleenex, began to feel her head swim.

The baby had quieted; Christine had dozed. Four hours later, Erik had delivered her to Christine to feed, then peace had reigned once more.

Erik had saved each night, if not each day, ever since, yet the frequent feedings and changing Evelyn were enough to exhaust Christine.

Now Erik pressed the issue.

"You are tired, Christine, and the baby is demanding a great deal of you. You would be able to relax more if you accepted help."

Christine ignored the suggestion and watched Evelyn, who was looking up at her father with a quizzical expression. The baby was moving her arms happily now, and Christine stroked her forehead with a gentle index finger.

"There´s enough hair here for a little bow, I think," she mused.

"Christine…"

"I think it should be blue, not pink, because of her complexion…"

"Christine, it is time for you to admit that you need the help of a nanny."

"Don´t worry, Erik, I can handle things! And I know things are going to get easier," she said, smiling defiantly.

"Really?" asked Erik, looking at Christine with amusement in his eyes. He turned his gaze onto the baby in his arms. "Tell me, young lady, are you planning to make your mother´s life 'easier'?"

Evelyn cooed and moved her tiny arms contentedly.

* * *

"The doctor told you that you can return to a _full_ schedule?" Jeanne Guiry asked the young girl visiting her faculty office pointedly. She scowled at the doctor´s note, making a show of holding it up to the window for better light and squinting at it through her reading glasses. "He _did _take an x-ray of your ankle, didn´t he? These campus clinic doctors are sometimes negligent…"

The dance student looked surprised. "Yeah, he took x-rays, Professor Guiry. Nothing broken or anything like that. I just thought that if I missed too much class you´d get mad. That´s why I wanted to come back so soon."

Jeanne raised her eyes heavenward. "Lord save me these trials! Contrary to what you may have heard, I am _not_ an ogre, Gerri. You cannot dance with a sprain. I would never demand that! We can´t be too careful with injuries. I do not ask that you _participate_, but I do require that you come to class to observe and learn. You´ve missed how many of my Ballet II classes now…two so far?"

Gerri nodded, eyes downcast.

"This is not about your injury, is it, then? This is about that boy I saw you with near the Kampus Kanteen the other day."

"He´s not –" Gerri started, blushing.

"No!" Jeanne lifted her hands imperatively. "I do _not_ wish to hear about him. I do wish for you to consider your future career, however. You must not become distracted from what your true goals in life."

Gerri looked ashamed. "Okay," she mumbled.

"I´ll see you, bright and early, tomorrow morning, then," said Jeanne, dismissing her.

After Gerri had left, Jeanne leaned against her desk, staring out the window, sighing. The large, multi-paned window was of a kind found only in the older university buildings. The Science and Engineering buildings were cursed with sleek, new, modern architecture, while the liberal arts and fine arts departments were left in what was sneeringly considered a dusty past – elderly Italianate buildings which would crumble only under a wrecking ball, perhaps, and grand old windows from the days when people respected sunlight.

A draft of cool air stirred the papers on her desk, and she turned to look at Erik, who stood near the door, hat in hand.

"A fedora, Erik?" said Jeanne, amused in spite of the state of nervous tension which his presence always inspired.

"Whatever draws people´s attention away from…other aspects of my appearance," Erik replied.

Jeanne was surprised by his candor. He was in a good mood, something which was occurring with him more and more frequently, but which still seemed somehow foreign to him.

"What are you doing here? Aren´t you still on sabbatical?"

"Indeed I am. Nonetheless, since I was in the neighbourhood, I could not resist the urge to drop in on an old friend."

"I see. Please, Erik…what do you want?" Her voice was a resigned sigh.

"Jeanne, Jeanne. I am no longer in the _insurance business_, so I no longer require your help in the evenings. My enemies, as you know, have all disappeared, so I need no help against _them_. I am bored with violence, and intrigue is overrated. I am quite content with the splendid boredom that family life now affords me."

His tones had been satirical, almost mocking, but Jeanne realized that, for once, he was mocking _himself_.

"You really are finished with it all, then. What´s this visit about? Do you want me to help hide something…or someone…for you?"

"Of course not. Everything´s very well packed up, wrapped, and tied into a neat little bundle, so to speak."

"Even with the District Attorney?"

Erik smiled derisively. "He never knew what hit his files or database, and Nadir was quick to pay his staff for its discreetly rendered services. That man has always had an incomparable eye for whose _services_ are for sale and whose are not."

"Erik, you can´t hide everything forever. Sooner or later, something could happen. What happens if Christine finds out what you did with that woman?"

"With whom?"

"You know very well who! Ashley Jacobs!"

"She need never know. By the way, I am most grateful for your assistance in the matter. I understand that it was an ordeal for you…"

"Five days…it took an eternity!" said Jeanne, her voice breaking.

"Yes. Well, she was difficult. On the bright side, you did manage to stop drinking by the end of the process. And I must congratulate you; I understand that you and your daughter are now on speaking terms."

"It´s true…we´ve talked," said Jeanne, softly.

"Splendid, splendid! Then you will not be needing my services as mediator…"

"_No_!" interrupted Jeanne quickly, and Erik grinned maliciously.

There was an awkward pause which Erik finally ended.

"I would like to ask one small favour of you, Jeanne," he began.

"Uh-_huh_," grunted Jeanne, looking as him suspiciously.

Erik withdrew a sheaf of yellowed staff paper from his coat which looked somewhat frayed around the edges. The notes, dynamics, signatures and other notations seemed to have been rapidly and somewhat messily noted down in India ink. Jeanne noticed the composer´s signature on the upper right-hand side of the first page: _E. St. Amand. _She accepted the composition, her hand trembling slightly, and looked up at Erik questioningly.

"A series of pieces for soprano," Erik said in answer to her silent question. "You are to _discover _these wedged behind the wainscoting of Room 202."

"My studio," said Jeanne.

"Make it look accidental, of course, and be certain there are witnesses to your find. However, you are not to surrender this music to anyone. You are to come directly to me with this."

"Why this charade?"

"I expect to have Christine in fine voice within a few months. Hers will be the voice which will premiere this remarkable discovery. Once you have made a show of delivering this music to me, I will refuse to share it with anyone or even to speak of it until it is time for Christine´s recital – which will be eagerly awaited, of course."

"I see," said Jeanne, smiling. "But won´t this _discovery_ -- won´t this music by the late, great _E. St. Amand_ be considered university property?"

"I have an understanding with the Dean."

"Oh." Jeanne thought for a minute, then curiosity moved her to speak once more. "Christine is very busy with her baby right now, Erik, and she will probably continue to be short of time, even once her strength is back. She has not accepted the help of the nanny we chose, has she?"

"She will. She is quite stubborn. She is a very good mother for one so unacquainted with its responsibilities, and I admit to being surprised."

"I know you are helping her a great deal yourself, Erik," observed Jeanne, smiling slightly.

"_Helping _her? Christine is young, so her naïveté is understandable. She seems to take the traditionalist view that the mother is almost solely responsible for the care of her child, and she accepts my _help _with gratitude! Yet, you, Jeanne…how can a woman of your years tell the father of a child that he _helps _when he cares for her?"

"Yes…" said Jeanne, reflecting, "you´re right, though it was just an expression, you know. But I have to point out that you are very involved, much more involved than most fathers."

"Then _most fathers_ are idiots. Let me make things plain to you, Jeanne. Christine could easily have _ended_ this child months ago, and she chose not to. I am more than grateful."

Jeanne smiled. "You´re a lot happier about a baby who was an accident than most fathers."

Erik bristled. "My daughter was _not_ an 'accident,' Jeanne."

Jeanne´s smile faded, and she fidgeted at Erik´s change in demeanor. Only three weeks ago, such a state of nerves would have sent her in a beeline to her decanter. "I mean only that the pregnancy happened because Christine had run out of …birth control."

"I know what you mean, and I was quite aware of Christine´s situation."

"Then you mean to tell me…"

"I was hoping for a child, _praying_ for one, if you would believe it, but I was certain when Christine ran away that the dream would be denied me. Our child was _no accident!_"

Jeanne held her hands up defensively. "Please, Erik – I didn´t mean to offend you. I just received the wrong impression."

Erik appeared placated, but he had not quite regained his good mood of earlier, so Jeanne added, "Christine loves you very much, you know."

"There´s the miracle," Erik responded under his breath, but he seemed completely appeased now. He picked up his hat. "You will _discover _my music in your studio tomorrow morning, in the manner we discussed?"

"Of course, Erik. Nine o´clock, bright and early."

He turned back towards her one last time as he placed his hand on the doorknob. "One last thing, Jeanne – beware of desperate graduate students in search of Mr. St. Amand´s music. They can be particularly annoying."

* * *

Several days later, Meg stopped at Erik and Christine´s front gate, her engine idling, and pressed the button of the video intercom, then identified herself.

"Miss…?" Meg looked down. The voice, barely more than a whisper, seemed to be coming from the abelia bushes.

The gate started to open, and a man´s head popped out of the bushes. Meg stifled a scream.

"Wait…wait! Let me get into your car…please! They won´t let _me_ in!" he said, and jumped out and started to scuttle in a crouching position, crablike, towards Meg´s car.

Meg gunned the motor and started into the mansion´s drive, leaving the man bathed in the dust she stirred. As she continued onward, she noticed some motion out of the corner of her eye, and she saw a security man tackle the intruder in her side view mirror.

Christine was pushing the stroller down one of the garden paths, and Evelyn was bundled up within.

"You won´t believe what just happened outside your gate!" said Meg as she rushed up to greet her.

"Let me guess – does it involve a tall, thin blond guy with a long nose and desperate attitude?" asked Christine wearily.

"Well…yeah, it does," said Meg, deflated.

"That´s Joe-John Ross, the world´s most annoying doctoral candidate."

"Wait a minute…Is this about that work of E. St. Amand´s that was discovered by my mom?"

"'Fraid so," admitted Christine. "Joe-John Ross has been trying to get in and talk to Erik about it. He wants to see it very badly. Erik won´t see him, and he´s even hired a security guy to keep him away."

"Well, there´s been an even peskier guy bugging my mom, and she doesn´t have any security guy to help her."

Christine looked up sharply. "Is your mom okay?"

"She is now, and I think she chased the jerk off."

"What was he like?"

"Kind of short, stocky, dark hair, goatee, nose up in the air, snobby attitude. 'A discovery of this magnitude should be in the proper hands,' he tells my mom." Meg sniffed.

"That would be Zagreus Rombauer. I´ve heard about him. Erik gave him such a fright months ago that he´s afraid to approach him, but I guess he´s not afraid of your mom. Too bad."

Meg looked at Christine curiously. "This _E. St. Amand_ has caused quite a stir. I´ve heard some of his pieces, and they´re just heaven on earth," she said, rolling her eyes up in ecstasy. "This relative of your husband´s was some kind of really talented guy."

Christine was uncomfortable. Few people had known of Erik´s genius for music until lately. Now that he had a family and had hired on servants, she was certain that people were beginning to talk. She had seen the maids as they paused, listening on the other side of the study´s closed door, while her husband played his piano within. He reserved his own compositions and experiments for his nocturnal sessions, when the servants had gone and the house was quiet. There was a cradle near the piano for Evelyn, since Erik had gotten into the habit of taking his daughter with him whenever she refused to sleep between her night feedings. Christine was grateful for the rest this gave her, but how long would Erik be able to hide the truth from the world – that he and his deceased relative, _E. St. Amand_, were one in the same?

"There are at least three scholars competing with each other right now, you know," Christine told Meg as they strolled through the garden, pushing Evelyn´s carriage. "They´re from different universities – I think at least one´s from a conservatory, and they all want to write the definitive biography of E. St. Amand, plus a thorough analysis of all his work. They really are under some kind of pressure. If it isn´t money, it´s a prestige issue."

"Mmmm, they sure are pushy, aren´t they?" responded Meg. She bent over the carriage to look more closely at Evelyn, who was babbling her delight at the sunlight. "She sure has grown already, hasn´t she? She looks great! I have to apologize to you Christine – I´m sorry I thought you weren´t prepared for motherhood."

"Then I have to apologize to you, Meg – I´m sorry I told you I _was_!" responded Christine with a rueful smile.

"Not as easy as you thought, huh?" commented Meg. There was no trace of triumph or _I-told-you-so_ in her tones; there was nothing but sympathy.

"Not at all! My arse isn´t sore anymore, and I can sit down now, but my breasts ache, and feeding her takes forever. If it weren´t for Erik, I´d be dead by now."

"Well, the good news is that it gets better," said Meg. "Just hang in there! Anyhow, you´re doing something right. Look at how beautiful she is!"

Meg scooped Evelyn from the carriage and chortled at how bundled up she was. "Is there a baby in here somewhere?"

"Do you think she´s too warmly dressed?" Christine asked fretfully. _Something else to be nervous about._

"Naw, don´t worry, it´s cold today," said Meg, smiling down at Evelyn, who promptly crowed. "See how happy she is? And look at that skin! I think she definitely has her father´s brow line."

"And his hair!" added Christine, smiling. As undefined as her tiny features were, she could see the lineaments of her husband's face in the shape of Evelyn´s hairline, in her brows, and in the luxuriant black color of her ample hair. In the wintry sunlight, her delicate skin glowed like alabaster.

As Meg stood on the garden path with Evelyn, admiring her, Christine strolled several feet away to where a bird feeder was. A quick visual check assured her that it had been filled recently, and she stood very still, watching, as a cardinal lit on its perch and began to enjoy the sunflower seeds.

"Maybe you´ll have your mom´s nose," Meg mused aloud, looking affectionately into Evelyn´s little face.

Meg´s eye strayed to the cardinal on the feeder and her friend watching it from below; then something attracted her gaze to one of the mullioned windows at the upper level of the house. Golden lamplight seemed to illuminate Erik´s tall figure as he contemplated the garden, a book in his hand. As Meg continued to look, she realized that he was watching Christine. She had caught him in a rare unguarded moment, and she realized that he thought himself unobserved. As the minutes passed, Evelyn continued to coo, kick, and exercise her little arms, but Erik´s gaze remained on his wife. Finally, his eyes flicked to where Meg was, and the leaded windows seemed to shift their angle somehow until one could only see reflected sunlight and sky. Erik had disappeared.

Christine approached and took Evelyn from Meg, carefully checking the weight of her diaper with a now-expert hand. "Time to go inside. This one needs changing! And we could use something to drink, couldn´t we, Meg?"

Meg nodded, lost in thought. "So, does Erik still want you to take on a nanny?"

"Of course he does!" said Christine, smiling and rolling her eyes. "He wants me to free up my time."

"For what?"

"For our music lessons, mostly. He wants me to have a career. He wants me not to be so tired. He wants…" Christine trailed off, blushing. "He wants time for us two, alone."

"Oh." Meg glanced towards the window again; it was dark, but somehow she could still see two golden eyes, watching.

Evelyn began to fuss hungrily in Christine´s arms.

"Well, let´s go," she sighed. "First the diaper, then a feeding. This child is going to drink me dry."

"She´s not the only one," said Meg, under her breath.


	21. Chapter 21

**Once again, my thanks to all who continue to read this story. I´m hoping to confine the remainder of this story to only one or two chapters more -- we´ll see if I succeed! **

**As ever, my gratitude to all who review.**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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* * *

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_Peace! Blessed peace!_

Christine sorted through photos, organizing Evelyn´s scrapbook as the baby napped in her crib.

_Six weeks old, _Christine wrote in careful script, gold lettering on gold-flecked pink paper of the highest quality. She grimaced, thinking about how Erik hated pink, even when the color clothed the pastel delicacy that was his young daughter.

"If ever a color could aspire to be mawkish and vulgar, it would be _that _color," he had growled.

"Would you prefer black, maybe?" Christine had asked.

Yesterday´s photo of a wide-eyed Evelyn lying on her stomach, head lifted, smiling toothlessly, graced the page above her mother´s careful calligraphy.

The baby was breastfeeding expertly now, and Christine had forgotten the pain of her first few weeks. She was also beginning to relax gradually into motherhood, yet Erik would never permit it to absorb her completely.

_Erik! What are you doing to me?_

She sighed as she thought of the musical torment to which her husband was now subjecting her on a regular basis. The pieces for soprano signed by _E. St. Amand _had turned out to be a sensual trap. Erik had set the most torrid, the most suggestive, the most shattering of Pablo Neruda´s potent love poems to music. He had known perfectly well that not only would Christine understand the music and its insinuations, but she would not need to have the Spanish lyrics translated for her.

_Anhelo su boca, su voz, su pelo.  
Silencioso y muerto de hambre, rondo a través de las calles.  
El pan no me alimenta, amanecer me interrumpe,  
yo busca todo el dia para la medida líquida de sus pasos__.*_

Christine groaned, thinking of her husband´s hands, of his mouth, of his _voice_. Six weeks postpartum, and Erik´s delicate care of her prevented him from taking her completely. But his hands! Her cheeks burned with anger and a touch of shame as she thought of the way he touched her at night, of her longing to touch him, of his refusal to permit it. She thought of their conversation the night before, as he had gently deflected her hands yet again.

"No." One syllable in a gentle tone – a silken slap. His lips travelled down the side of her neck, and his hands…

"Please, Erik…" She had tried again. He repelled her again.

"You are recovering, Christine. I _will not_."

The truth was that Christine had completely recovered from childbirth. Exercise and regular breastfeeding had slimmed and toned her, and pain was a distant memory. Erik had been careful to remove anything resembling work from her days, and he had given the cook meticulous instructions regarding her diet. Evelyn was only feeding once during the night now, and she had finally become diurnal in her waking habits, so Christine was fairly well rested.

In fact, she was well enough rested so that she had felt desire tugging at her long before the six-week period had elapsed. Erik´s music was certainly not helping her. It covered every emotion, from cheerful affection, to wanton eroticism, to terrifying passion – every feature on the fertile landscape of love. Erik´s eyes as he watched her sing, as he speculated, testing the effect of his work upon her, caused her to clench her jaw. He knew very well what he was doing. Or did he? Throughout their entire marriage, he had been the pursuer, and she his quarry. No, that was not quite the case, and not fair to him. _Quarry _was not exactly the word for a woman who enjoyed the chase, enjoyed the danger of the man pursuing her, who in the most recondite places in her heart welcomed the knowledge that he would always find her, always bring her home. Did Erik know this about her? Perhaps it was the one aspect of her nature he had missed, loath as she was to admit it, even to herself.

Perhaps Erik himself was too involved with his own sentiments to consider the love she offered him. She knew that he had little experience with people who returned his affection in _any_ form, let alone loved him as she did. She understood the violence of his need, and she understood his need to keep her secured within his control. His knowledge that she loved him only made things worse. Every caress, every gesture of affection, so eagerly accepted, only added to the problem. The more Erik _had_, the more frightened he became of its being taken from him. The brutality life had shown him had become too ingrained within him for him to ever transcend such fears, and she knew it.

Was he so involved with his own side of things that he did not recognize _her _need for him? She had initiated lovemaking on solely one occasion, and only Erik´s eager acceptance of the idea had prevented her from making an embarrassing mess of things.

Christine left the scrapbook on the bed, photos of Evelyn still scattered across the navy comforter, and glanced at herself in the full-length mirror appraisingly. She had lost perhaps too much weight, but the heaviness of her newly maternal breasts could be considered erotic, couldn´t it? Her jeans were slightly loose, but her sweater was rather tight now. She continued her inspection, lifting her gaze to her face reflected in the mirror, and for the first time in months, she looked -- truly looked -- into her own eyes, wondering what Erik saw there.

A slight movement at the edge of the mirror caught her eye, and she watched as a grey spider worked, weaving its web between the mirror´s frame and its support. She felt an odd pang of sympathy for the creature as she watched him. She had always liked spiders for some reason, and she had asked the maids not to kill any of them while cleaning.

One of the maids had wrinkled her nose in distaste. "We clean the house, so we kill spiders. Otherwise, they´ll just make more cobwebs. Anyway, they´re disgusting." And she had stared at Christine in brazen disapproval.

Christine had left the room, disappointed. She could not miss the irony behind the fact that she was capable of standing up to a man like Erik, but she could not manage to keep a recalcitrant maid in line. She simply did not have the time, she told herself, and she was right: between Evelyn´s needs and Erik´s music sessions, she did not have the time or the energy for much more.

Erik had somehow found out about the maid´s defiance of Christine, and he had had her replaced.

"You let Janet go?" Christine had asked, aghast. "Just because of my silly feelings about spiders?"

"I won´t have the help bullying you," Erik had replied, lifting his eyes from his laptop to regard her with a soft, affectionate expression. Somehow he found Christine´s liking for spiders endearing, and he refused to criticise her over the issue.

Now Christine watched, fascinated, as the grey spider carefully attached another strand to a very angular-looking web.

"What do you think you´re going to catch around _here_ for dinner?" she asked the creature.

"_You_, perhaps?" said Erik dryly, and Christine turned to see him observing her from the doorway, his hands in his pockets. He always wore dress shirts, even around the house, and they were usually immaculate white, though he tended to stain his cuffs with ink. He needed a haircut now, and he brushed some dark hair from his forehead carelessly as he approached her. She continued with her back to him, facing the mirror, stiff with hopeful tension. He wrapped his arms around her waist and bent over her, burying his face in her neck.

"I…I was talking to a spider," she said, trying to dispel the heat that was beginning to rise within her.

"I see you´re well acquainted with my character and intentions, then," Erik murmured, the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly. He began to plant soft kisses on her neck.

"I didn´t mean _you," _she responded, wishing that her wits had not abandoned her. She felt the edge of his mask bumping against her flesh.

"I know. But you could have, you know," he said conversationally, and she swallowed as his hands began to explore her. "You are no longer afraid of me, are you?"

"Why…why should I be afraid of you?" she gasped.

His arms tightened around her, then continued to explore. "You should not be. You should never be. Yet you were afraid of me once, and I fear I really have not lost an ounce of my virulence…"

"Or virility." She could not resist.

He chuckled. He would often test her to see whether she was still at peace with him, whether she might fear him, whether she might ever be _tempted to run_. The same insecurities would always rule him, she thought.

He had removed her blouse now and unclasped her bra now, and hope beat within her like a drum. Finally…!

A muffled cooing noise became audible from the other side of the room, and Christine´s heart sank. Evelyn was awakening from her nap.

Erik continued his caresses, and the baby´s soft noises began to grow in volume and frequency.

Christine tried to move away from him, but his arms only moved around her tightly.

"The baby…" she said breathlessly.

"No," he said, and grazed the flesh beneath her earlobe with his teeth. She could feel his arousal, and her knees were weak.

"She needs attention, now!"

Erik moved so that he looked down into her eyes now; his own had a speculative quality to their gaze that Christine did not understand.

"Evelyn can wait," he said. His voice was hoarse but soft, and very controlled.

"Oh, _Erik_!" Christine moaned in frustration. She tried to move once more, but Erik maintained his grip.

Evelyn began to fuss.

"A nanny would, of course, give us time…for this," said Erik, watching her reaction carefully.

"I suppose," Christine gasped. He had clasped her to himself more tightly, and there could be no doubt of his desire.

"You would accept help with the baby now, now that I need you?" His eyes were fixed on hers, and even as the last rays of sunlight filtered through the window, she could detect a faint glow in his gaze.

"Of course, but…"

He released her abruptly and strode towards the crib and lifted Evelyn, who had begun to cry, into his arms. Christine barely had time to notice that she had stopped sobbing upon seeing her father before he left the room with her. He returned without the baby in less than a minute.

"Where…?"

"She is with Marina Galvez," he said soothingly. "She is in good hands."

"But, Erik…Marina? She´s one of the maids!" Something seemed to fall into place, however. Of all the household staff, Marina, whose greying hair smelled of roses, was the most devoted and attentive towards Evelyn.

"Miss Galvez is actually to be the nanny. She has waited for six weeks to assume her responsibilities," Erik explained.

"You´ve been planning this," said Christine, and she turned her back on him and stepped towards the mirror, careful to monitor his reflection behind her. She noticed that the spider continued its work on the web it was constructing. She jumped as, behind her, Erik raised his hand and activated the shades, which descended quickly, plunging the room into darkness.

"You must own, Christine, that I have been patient during these six weeks." A sharp edge underlay his slow, gentle murmur.

"You´ve been _too _patient. Last night, we could have…"

"It has been six weeks now, to the very hour, Christine, and I resolved not to touch you a minute before."

"That´s anal-retentive!" she snapped, and she turned to look at him and instantly regretted what she had said. In the gloom, hurt flickered in his golden eyes for an instant. She realized that, even more than his lovemaking, his self-restraint over the past six weeks had been an expression of his love for her. The fact that he had counted the days, hours and minutes that he would have to control himself was merely typical of his mathematician´s dedication to details. Now that the six-week timer´s bell had rung, she realized, he was, in fact, _done_.

"I…I´m sorry," she stammered, need and resentment warring within her. "You know I need you," she added, hoping to mend the situation.

He moved towards her, grasping her bare arms. "Do you?" he asked, looming over her. "We shall see."

* * *

Afterwards, there was peace and a shared shower, and Erik brought Evelyn to the bed to be nursed. He held Christine so that she was propped against him, and he planted tender kisses on her head, unmasked now. This afterglow was exquisite to Christine – her husband was relaxed and happy, Evelyn was cooing with satisfaction, and she herself was slightly sore but at peace. She noticed that the baby had been bathed, wore a fresh diaper, and smelled of roses.

"I suppose a nanny was not really a bad idea, after all," she admitted sleepily, and Erik´s arm tightened around her shoulder affectionately. She ran a dreamy finger over the ring-shaped scar on the plane of flesh beneath her husband´s collar-bone.

Across the room, the spider carefully wrapped a moth it had ensnared in its web, its legs working gracefully as it fixed the bundle in place.

* * *

By the time the day of Christine´s recital had arrived, five months later, she felt like a pampered thoroughbred. Erik devoted increasing amounts of his time and attention to training her voice, specifically for the new St. Amand pieces.

She finished applying her makeup. It was to be an evening recital, and she wore a dramatic full-length black silk gown which Erik had selected. At first, she had not liked the gown at all.

"I´ll look like I´m the guest of honor at my own funeral!" she had lamented, ignoring the iridescent dark sequins decorating the bodice.

"You will wear it," Erik had replied, and she had sighed, knowing that she could never change his mind.

Now that she wore the gown she recognized the wisdom of his choice. Her fair skin and bare shoulders seemed to glow against the dark material, and the deep blue of her eyes seemed startlingly dramatic.

"Erik, I look like something out of Tartarus," she said for the sake of complaining. Anything to dispel her nervousness!

"Persephone herself," he said, pride in his eyes, and she gasped with pleasure at the sight of him. He wore a formal black tuxedo and onyx cufflinks, and his purest white half-mask fairly shone with its own light, offsetting his dark hair and grave bearing.

In spite of the butterflies he gave her, she rallied. "I look more like that three-headed dog from Hell…what was his name…Cerberus? And was it a 'he' or a 'they'? I never figured it out!"

"Why do you insist on saying such absurdities when you know I cannot leave marks on your neck or shoulders tonight?" He grinned maliciously, displaying his white teeth. His eyes flashed, and his mask reflected the lamplight. He would have frightened anyone but Christine.

Her smile dimmed as she fell victim to her misgivings. What if her voice failed in the middle of it all? What if her voice failed from the beginning? What if…?

"All will go well, Christine," he said, his voice suddenly low and comforting. His hand caressed her neck.

* * *

And the recital did go well, even by Erik´s exacting standards. The university´s concert hall was filled, and Christine could see that there were people standing at the back, and through the doorways, she noticed figures milling about in the foyer. The mystery behind the discovery of the "new" work by E. St. Amand had captured the collective imagination of the intelligentsia of the city. Christine was to discover later that some of the tickets to the recital – a simple recital! – had been scalped, and sold for $500 each.

No less interesting to the crowd was the brassy little soprano who had been permitted a monopoly on this important new work. Erik had devised not to permit Christine to receive all the mail that had been directed to her during the months they had been closeted together preparing the recital. The wisdom of this decision was impeccable. Much of the content of the letters and e-mails to Christine consisted of pleas, offers, and reproachful harangues involving the importance of St. Amand´s work, contrasted with the inexistence of Christine´s own artistic career. There were several vitriolic personal attacks which Erik had quietly _taken care of_ himself. Nadir had spent a great deal of time investigating people and fending off the more recalcitrant scholars. Joe-John Ross and Zagreus Rombauer had been nowhere in evidence, and Christine began to worry about what had become of them.

* * *

Zagreus Rombauer quietly congratulated himself. It had cost him a great deal to obtain a front-row seat, but it was well worth it, he knew. He had hardly had time to reflect on the hours he had spent combing through St. Amand´s work before Erik St. Amand and his wife, whom he had mentally dubbed the _slutty soprano_, were introduced to the stage. He leaned forward to observe the chemistry between the woman and her accompanist. He shuddered as he glanced at St. Amand. The man was a power to be reckoned with – terrifying, even – and he did not dare approach him. But, perhaps that wife of his could be buttonholed after the performance. She was a beautiful creature, standing onstage in shimmering black, her slender form graceful under the harsh stage lights. There was something entirely doe-like about her.

Images of Bambi did not last long as the music began and started to weave an erotic spell around its audience. _That first liquid note! _ The purity of the lyric soprano washed over the audience, but there was something more, something absolutely electric, and it seemed to emanate from _something_ between the woman – for he could think of her only as a woman now – and her husband. Her voice was brilliant as a diamond, and buoyed the music along -- with its erotic tension, its passion, and something even stronger, filling the confines of the hall, holding the audience hostage to its turbulent strength. It was as though the music were tailored to her voice -- and her voice sounded its gratitude!

Rombauer was fortunately familiar with Neruda´s work, and he was capable of blushing at some of the more sensual phrases. His eyes remained riveted on the sparkling woman on the stage and her devil of an accompanist.

He glanced at the program again in disbelief. _Christine St. Amand…_

_

* * *

_

There had been a travesty of a reception attended only by the Dean and certain dignitaries; Erik refused to cater to the Press, and certainly not to photographers. He had whisked Christine backstage and out of the public´s eye as soon as the recital had finished.

A long time had passed before Christine stopped shaking and Erik was willing to release her. An even longer time passed before the crowd dispersed, led away by rumors (started by Nadir) that a limousine had already taken the St. Amands away, and that they were headed to a fashionable restaurant across town, where they would be dining.

Rombauer did not believe this; he knew something of the St. Amands´ reclusive habits.

* * *

"I had no idea how horrible stage fright can be," Christine said.

Erik simply nodded and watched her carefully. "You were marvellous, you know. Everything I ever dreamed you would be."

"You´ll want me to do this again, then," she said quietly. She thought of Evelyn, waiting for her at home, their warm kitchen. Her home could be her fortress and her refuge. She had seen the hostility in the faces of some of the audience, and she had been completely unprepared for it. She felt weak and cowardly. No wonder Erik had wanted to protect her from a trial involving Ashley!

_Ashley…_

Erik interrupted her thoughts. "I would never put you through anything that makes you uncomfortable. If you never want to sing in public again, I will accept it."

"Thank you." Christine smiled and fingered a plastic bust of Beethoven. The room backstage where they had taken refuge was filled with props, ladders, and an old dart board that had seen frequent use.

Erik went back to the stage to collect his coat and the music, and Christine ventured out into the dimly-lit recital hall, waiting for him. She picked up a program and observed it absently, then jumped: someone else had remained in the hall post-recital.

She turned to see Zagreus Rombauer methodically picking up programs from the empty seats, and she relaxed visibly. He glanced at her, seeing that his busyness had disarmed her as intended, and launched into the attack.

"You did very well tonight, Ms. St. Amand, but you could do better, you know," he called to her.

Christine stiffened, but turned around completely to regard him, eyes wide and unblinking. _So far, so good._

"Permit me to introduce myself," he said, and as he moved towards her, he lifted his chin so far north that Christine found herself looking up his nose. "Zagreus Rombauer." He held out his hand.

Christine accepted the proffered hand hesitantly. "I…I´ve heard of you," she murmured.

He seemed satisfied with that, and his dark eyes appeared to take her measure. "I would have you know that I am the world´s foremost authority on the works of the composer _E. St. Amand."_

"Oh," she said, and looked about nervously, no longer the temptress he had seen on stage, but a frightened doe once more.

Rombauer saw her timidity as his advantage, although he had expected more enthusiasm from Christine upon offering her his credentials. _A simple "I´m honoured" from the little woman would have done…_

"As I was saying, Ms. St. Amand, I am the go-to authority on St. Amand´s work, and although you acquitted yourself rather brilliantly tonight, I noticed two or three things that should have been sung quite differently. You, in your ignorance of the composer´s methods and tastes, would never have guessed at this, of course -- but if you would only let me work with you, I´m sure the quality of your interpretation would improve dramatically."

"You want to see the music," sighed Christine. Her eyes continued to dart about nervously, focusing on something behind him.

"No! Well, of course I would need to see the music, but only in order to help you…"

Christine had begun to shake her head wildly, mouthing a _no, _and Rombauer turned just in time to face Erik, who in his black anger seemed to have transformed into an enormous bat.

"You _dare…" _he spat, looming over the terrified musicologist, "You _dare _to accost my wife? Our last meeting apparently failed to make an adequate impression on your memory. Imagine! My faculties must be failing me in my old age!"

Yet there was nothing _old_ about Erik as he lifted Rombauer by his lapels.

"Erik…_please_…" begged Christine, fluttering nervously nearby.

"Oh, please, _LET ME KILL HIM!_" Erik roared, still holding the man aloft as he proceeded towards the exit.

"No, Erik. You can´t kill him. We have to go home and eat dinner now, and we´re running very late as it is. And I´m _leaking! _ I have to feed Evelyn! Do you want to see my nursing pads?"

She started to reach into her bodice, and Rombauer´s eyes bulged with alarm. Yet Christine knew what she was doing. She had been trailing Erik and was therefore addressing his back, but Rombauer had been borne into the air like the mast of some dark ship, facing Erik, and he could see Christine quite clearly from his position.

"_No!"_Erik whipped around and dropped the hapless academic to the ground. The man landed in a painful pile, groaning.

Christine´s hand paused before it was to plunge into the front of her dress on a foray after the wet pad. Erik moved forward and gripped her wrist gently before she could commit such an impropriety. Then his arm settled around her waist as, with a final glower down at Rombauer, he escorted her towards the exit.

"You weren´t really going to _kill_ him, were you?" asked Christine as they greeted the cool, starry spring night.

"Not completely," muttered Erik, "but wouldn´t you have let me play with him for a bit?"

The humor was as welcome as it was unexpected.

"No. You don´t know where he´s been!" she returned, and Erik smiled. She leaned into his embrace, happy to be going home.

* * *

*I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.  
Silent, starving, I prowl through the streets.  
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disquiets me,  
I search the liquid sound of your steps all day.

_From "Anhelo su boca, su voz, su pelo," poem by Pablo Neruda  
_


	22. Chapter 22

**Please forgive me, dear readers, for a painfully long chapter. The good news is that it´s the last one! I was faced with the choice of either dividing this chapter in two or simply leaving it long****. I elected the latter. **

**I would like to thank all those who have read this story, and especially those who have reviewed.**

**I appreciate all reviews, including those that are critical. As I´ve said before, I´m here to learn, and constructive feedback, whether it´s positive or negative, really helps me. **

**I am grateful to the anonymous reviewer who remarked that, in this story, Christine always gives in to Erik. I have noticed that myself in all my narratives, and it is something I´ve had doubts about quite often. One of the problems I have with Erik, as he is characterized, is that he is much older than Christine, much more familiar with the world and how it works, and much more prepared for combat. And he´s a genius. That gives him a huge advantage over her. I haven´t figured out a way in which Christine could credibly beat such an opponent.**

**This reviewer also mentioned that it is selfish for a mother to have a nanny, and she should enjoy caring for her baby herself. That is subject to some debate, I think. Caring for a baby involves a lot of hard, very physical work – it´s not just about love. A new mother who does not have family close by to help her with her workload may very well need a nanny. That´s just my opinion, of course. **

**Well, now that I´ve abused your patience, it´s on to the long, long final chapter. Thank you all so very much!**

**I do not own POTO, or its characters.**

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By fifteen months of age, Evelyn was a beautiful whirlwind, completely dedicated to the idea that the universe needed exploring. Her father´s study was no exception, and she stretched to reach the pretty objects which beckoned to her from his bottom shelves.

"Oh, no! We can´t have that – no, we can´t! That´s an _owie, _Evey!" exclaimed Christine as she separated the baby from the glass prism she had reached.

Evelyn went red and began to scream, which was something which was becoming more and more frequent. Her temper had begun to frighten Christine, although Erik simply shrugged.

Now Erik took her from Christine, who had been struggling as her daughter screamed and bucked in her arms. He held the thrashing baby at eye level, and she stilled as he scowled at her.

"Pa…_pa_?" she said inquiringly, all innocence.

"_Evelyn_," he said in warning tones. He never called her Evey, as Christine and the nanny did. He scarcely bothered to speak to her, and whenever he did, she appreciated the novelty of the situation and listened to him.

Erik was an excellent father, Christine reflected, but he would always be cool, authoritarian, and emotionally distant, in spite of his affection for his daughter.

"She has such a temper!" Christine fretted, watching as Erik placed the baby in her playpen with a final warning look.

"That is logical – she wishes to run things, and she´s testing the waters," he remarked. As he made his way to his desk, Christine watched Evelyn. She clung to the side of her playpen, watching her father with an absorbed look. Her hair had become thicker and more luxuriant with time, and it was as jet-black as her father´s, though it curled wildly as Christine´s did. Her eyes had turned a surprising shade of light hazel – very nearly the color of Erik´s eyes, but without the supernatural glow that his possessed. As she turned her attention to a cardboard book that was in the playpen and observed it, furrowing her brow, the resemblance her gaze bore to Erik´s was striking.

"Perhaps it´s time to hand Evelyn to Marina for a while." Erik´s voice sliced through Christine´s reverie, and she turned to find him watching her, his laptop forgotten.

"Oh – no, Erik, she´s being so good now, really," Christine assured him hastily.

After several minutes of unnerving scrutiny, Erik shrugged gracefully and conceded, once again concentrating on his accounting programs. Christine sighed with relief and started to work along the length of Erik´s shelves, moving all the fragile items up out of Evelyn´s reach.

* * *

Unfortunately for Christine, Evelyn learned to climb some weeks later, and she decided to demonstrate her new aptitude during one of Meg´s frequent visits.

"Darned if you haven´t got a little mountain goat there – look at what Evey´s doing!" warned Meg, and Christine turned to find Evelyn trying to climb up the built-in living room shelves. She had just begun her climb, fortunately, and only had one foot firmly on the edge of the second shelf by the time her mother scooped her up into her arms.

"You saw that," commented Christine to Meg. "I only looked away for a minute!"

Evelyn began to fuss and struggle in her mother´s arms.

Meg winced. "Yeah, I saw what happened. It only takes a minute, and you´re only human. Which is why you need other people around, right?" she said pointedly.

As if on cue, Marina entered the living room, her eyes questioning. "I´ll take the baby now, okay?" she asked, and Christine nodded, relieved.

Evelyn´s temper rose as she saw that she was about to be removed from the scene, and her eyes filled with tears; she began to screech as Marina pulled her into her soft, maternal arms. Her wails drowned out the nanny´s quiet shushing and only became quieter with distance as she was borne away to the nursery.

"Marina´s great, isn´t she?" Meg commented softly.

"She is. We make a great tag team, I think," said Christine.

It was true: Christine and Marina worked as a team, often together, but often taking turns caring for the baby. The two women had become close friends, and Christine grew to respect Marina´s experience with children, and she valued her advice. The nanny had three children of her own, now grown. She had started her career babysitting her children´s friends.

"Things just took off from there. I love kids, and I love Evey. She´s a little tornado!" Marina had laughed, shrugging her shoulders, and the fragrance of roses infused the air.

Evelyn was an extremely active toddler, and she had little love for sleep. She seemed bent on exploring everything – her hands worked non-stop to discover the secrets she felt sure were hidden in everyday objects. Once she had finished examining or playing with a toy, she would often throw it, then check to see what effect the violent action had had upon the object. Christine was grateful for the covers on the electrical sockets, since Evelyn seemed quite interested in the outlets and would often touch them in wonder. Christine had once noticed her observing a floor lamp, her eyes travelling down the length of the electrical cord to the socket.

"Is this…is this normal?" Christine had wondered aloud, and Erik had chuckled.

"She is intelligent," he had said, and had left it at that.

Christine began to think of Evelyn as a little scientist performing experiments constantly. _If I throw this, what will happen? If I poke that, how will it respond? Cause – effect. Cause – effect. Cause – effect. Cause – uh-oh! _

"But a baby _is_ the ultimate scientist," Meg responded, smiling, when Christine voiced that thought. "She has to learn about the world, after all. I´ll add one thing, though, about Evey. She´s her father´s daughter!"

Christine smiled her agreement ruefully, grateful once more that she had Meg to talk with. She changed the subject abruptly, curiosity tugging at her.

"How´s your mom doing?"

Meg grimaced. "Completely dried up. I can´t believe it! I keep waiting for her to fall off the wagon, but it never happens. They´re noticing it at the university, too, and she´s being given more responsibilities, so she hasn´t got much time for other things now."

"And…you and she? How are you…?"

"We´re not at each other´s throats anymore, if that´s what you mean, Christine, but you can´t make a silk purse out of a sow´s ear. We actually see each other for lunch once in a while, but we just don´t have much to say to each other. At least she doesn´t pry any more the way she once did, and she knows what gripes me. But she´s still kind of nervous around me.

"I finally told her, 'Mom, you don´t have to worry, okay? I´m your daughter, and I know it. So I´ll _be_ your daughter,' and she seemed to like that."

"What did _that _mean? Was it some sort of an 'I love you?'"

Meg paused to think for a few seconds. "I think maybe it was, for us," she said, finally.

* * *

Marina delivered Evelyn to Christine after Meg´s visit; the baby leaned away from her nanny towards her mother, her arms outstretched, and Christine laughed and kissed her as she took her up in her arms. Evelyn smiled and cooed, all grace and charm once more.

"But your hair´s a mess!" Christine said, and it was true. Indeed, it was nearly always true, since Evelyn´s activity level kept her hair in a constant state of tangled curls and lopsided barrettes.

"I´ll get her brush," said Marina, and Christine nodded.

She escorted Evelyn carefully around the living room and watched as she stopped in front of the huge fireplace. It had just been cleaned, along with its hardware, now that April´s warm weather no longer made the prospect of setting a fire attractive. The decorative screen which covered the hearth in the warm months had not yet been brought up from the basement, so that the fireplace was as exposed and empty as it had been on the day Christine had stood within it and thus annoyed her husband. The rug which normally covered the floor in front of the hearth had been rolled up to facilitate cleaning, and Evelyn eyed it speculatively, then looked at the fireplace, then looked speculatively at her mother. What to do next? She sucked on her index finger as she watched her mother through her long lashes.

Before Christine knew it, the toddler had run into the fireplace and stood within, giggling, as Christine followed her, bent on scooping her up.

"No, no! That´s dirty! Do you see the black soot, Evey? Dirty! Dirty…!" Christine´s voice trailed off. She had noticed something about the masonry of the stones within the fireplace. One of them was jutting out slightly, and although the mortar around it was sooty, it was noticeably paler than the rest of the mortar. She pressed at the stone with her fingers as Evelyn looked on curiously, and she noticed that it gave slightly; then she dug into the side of the stone with her fingernails and was startled to see that it pivoted outward, as though it were on a hinge. She looked more closely – the stone _was _turningon a discreet hinge, and her eyes flicked to the object the stone had hidden so faithfully from her: a key.

Christine sensed Evelyn moving out of the fireplace and away from her, and she pushed the stone back into place, brushed off her hands, and gave chase to the toddler, who was now running to the opposite end of the room. Erik strode into view, carrying some papers, and Evelyn tackled him just beneath his knee and clung to his long leg, looking up at him and smiling. Her father swung her into his arms and smiled at her affectionately.

"A fine little hoyden you are…" he said as she patted his mask with a dimpled hand. "Now, where is your nanny?"

Marina appeared with a hairbrush and nodded to Erik as she took Evelyn off with her to another room. She knew when he wished to be alone with his wife.

Christine made an effort to appear composed as her husband approached her.

"We have work to do, you know," he began, as he indicated the papers he had brought, which she now realized were sheet music. As she accepted it from him, his eyes flicked from her hands to her face.

Somehow he knew, Christine realized. Somehow he knew that she had found the key. As he waited, watching her, a thousand possible subterfuges came to mind. She could try to divert his attention or feign illness, or any of a number of ways to avoid a confrontation, but she sighed. She had changed: she was no longer Erik´s timid little wife – she was more than this.

"You know what I´ve just found, Erik," Christine said calmly. "And I´d like to know what that key opens, please."

Something softened in Erik´s gaze, and his hands went to her upper arms and squeezed them affectionately.

"Good. It´s about time I showed you, Christine. If you would come with me out into the garden, please?" He strode over to the fireplace and extracted the key. Then, turning to his wife, he offered her his arm, and she accepted it, nodding wordlessly.

She could not resist a question, however. "How did you know I found the key? I never can figure out how you _just know _things!"

"You´re asking a magician to reveal his tricks?" asked Erik.

"I am!" she answered firmly, meeting his eyes fearlessly.

"Excellent, then. I could never refuse you anything…if you were simply to request it," he said, and he took her right hand gently in his and raised it to her eye level. An involuntary tremor of pleasure went through her.

"Have you looked at your fingernails lately?" he inquired with a wry smile.

Christine looked, surprised, and she easily saw soot visible beneath the crescents of her fingernails.

"Oh! It was that simple, then?"

"That, and the expression of heroic self-control on your face when I looked at you. You give _some_ of your secrets away too easily, Christine!"

She blushed. "My fingernails…" she muttered.

"You would be surprised how much information one can glean from simple observation, and _fingernails_ are an excellent place to start," he added, kissing her hand as he enjoyed her discomfiture.

* * *

The sky was an intense shade of blue seen only after rainfall, the color of truth, and sunlight illuminated the secrets contained in the brilliant spring day. Christine admired the new leaves and the play of sunlight through the dappled shade as Erik led her down a garden path, then into the half-wilderness which existed beyond the more manicured gardens which surrounded the house. He stopped abruptly at a clearing which was completely hidden from view from the house. Christine watched as he walked slowly through the grass, measuring his paces carefully, then bent to examine the turf beneath his feet.

"That´s just…" Christine began, but she had been wrong. Erik began to peel the turf up, revealing a metal door.

"A root cellar?" she inquired, approaching as he put the key in the newly installed lock and pulled the door open. She had expected a cool, moldy odor, but she was surprised – the cool was there, but the air smelled clean.

"Not a root cellar," Erik commented, taking out an immaculate handkerchief and wiping his hands on it. "It was an old fallout shelter, built during the fifties, but I have found a better use for it. It was simple to remodel it for what I had in mind."

As he descended through the door, he beckoned for her to follow. Battery-generated fluorescent light flooded the clean concrete stairway and the room beneath.

The room was filled with metal shelves, and the shelves were stacked with binders, boxes, notebooks, and stacks of paper and printouts. There were rows of vials and jars, all carefully labelled, and Christine´s gaze fell on some glassware and pipettes.

"This is where you took your lab," she said.

"This is where I took the laboratory, all records of my work, and all equipment and non-perishable materials." Erik´s gaze swept over the shelves as he leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets.

"All records of your work?"

"Everything that is exclusively mine and not within the university´s jurisdiction."

Christine walked slowly along the shelves, looking. "Hard disks…old notes…"

Picking up a notebook, she opened it to a random page and sighed at the formulae for organic compounds jotted down within. _I can´t begin to understand this!_

"The only thing you need to understand," said Erik, as though he could read her thoughts, "is that this is where all my secrets are stored. Herein lies all the information sought so diligently by those who dared to be our enemies." His eyes raked over the shelves with a kind of contempt.

"You´re talking about that truth serum aren´t you? Are you thinking of selling it now?" she asked. A million doubts, both moral and ethical, assaulted her.

"We could do any of several things – and I do mean _we,_ Christine. This is all yours as well as mine. Imagine," he continued, almost dreamily, "…I thought once to make an immense fortune with this…"

"I suppose you _still _could," Christine supplied, but she felt suddenly cold, and the room, though somehow ventilated, was not draughty.

His eyes encountered hers. "We could," he said softly, "but there are now things that are more important to us, don´t you think? My work became nothing but a source of misery. Because of all of this" – his gesture, a broad sweep of the arm, encompassed the shelves and their contents – "because of all of this, you were miserable during the first three years of our marriage…"

"And so were you," Christine interrupted him in an awkward attempt at solidarity.

He smiled in the slightest, most subtle way, a mere shadow of a smile, but it was more expressive than any other sign of emotion could have been on that masked countenance. His eyes glowed down at her warmly, affectionately, and he lifted her chin gently. "No, Christine. I was happier than I had ever been in my life – though miserable compared with how I feel now, now that I am truly _with_ you."

His kiss was bittersweet with regret, but there was no pain in it now. Christine remembered the pain-filled kisses he had shared with her in the dark when their marriage was new, and she felt a sudden happiness. _I remember when you never smiled..._

Erik interrupted her thoughts. "_You_ will decide, Christine, what must be done with the contents of this room. I will respect your wishes. We could gain a great deal financially through the sale of this, or we could shut the door on all this forever, and let it crumble to dust…"

"We´re so rich already it´s obscene," said Christine, "so we certainly don´t need more money. What would _you_ like to do, Erik?"

He was silent.

"Please?"

* * *

Nadir had been an infrequent visitor to the house since Evelyn´s arrival, and though Christine was sorry that he did not visit more often, she was happy that Erik spent very little time conferring with him. All the secrecy which had existed in the household since the very beginning of her marriage seemed to have ended now, and she did not miss it.

Christine was always quick to offer Nadir hospitality whenever he did visit, but he seemed quiet and awkward whenever Evelyn was around. _He doesn´t like children, _she had concluded, shrugging to herself.

One evening, however, she found Nadir speaking in melodic Farsi to Evelyn as Erik brought him a whiskey. She stopped to observe the tableau: sunlight streamed through the latticed living-room windows, and Evelyn fairly shone in its glow. She had planted herself in front of Nadir and listened, her eyes wide with curiosity, her finger in her mouth, as he recited – what? Poetry? Nursery rhymes? Erik leaned forward, his eyes amused, as he delivered the drink to Nadir, who was seated in a wing-back chair.

"I trust you will enjoy this drink all the more thoroughly, since you won´t have the opportunity once you are in Iran," Erik murmured, then turned and nodded towards Christine to acknowledge her presence.

"You´re going to visit Iran, Nadir?" Christine inquired, smiling as she crossed the room to greet him. She gathered Evelyn into her arms and sat on the sofa with the child wriggling in her lap.

"He´ll not be _visiting_ Iran, Christine," said Erik, since Nadir seemed to be struggling for words. "He´s returning home – for good. He has come to say farewell."

Christine´s smile faltered. "Oh…well, congratulations!" She gave up on restraining Evelyn, and the child left her lap to stand in front of Nadir again.

"I meant to tell you earlier, Christine," said Nadir softly, picking nervously at the embroidery on the chair´s damask upholstery. "It´s all been arranged. I have a new identity, and I even have a new job and new connections…"

"But don´t you need Nadir?" asked Christine, directing her question at Erik.

She was surprised when he looked at her sharply, his eyes narrowed, before answering. "He is no longer necessary. He has little left to do for us, and the contacts and connections he cultivated, along with our particular accounting system, are now the province of his successor."

"Erik has been generous to me, Christine," Nadir added. "It was _my_ wish to return home. You know that I always was missing my country."

"I know," said Christine, looking at her lap, suddenly aware of Erik´s dark scrutiny.

"I…I have to tell you that when your beautiful child was born, it made me think: why should I not have a wife, too, and a child, even? It made me sad, you know."

"Oh," said Christine, looking up briefly. She suddenly understood why he had been so quiet and withdrawn around Evelyn.

As she watched Nadir leave for the last time, Erik´s arm around her waist, she silently wished him all the happiness in the world – then smiled, certain that he _would_ be happy. _Home. It means so much!_

As they entered the foyer, Erik picked up the day´s mail which had been brought in and lay on a side table. He sorted through it and handed Christine an envelope with an amused glint in his eye.

"A wedding invitation? But I don´t know anyone…_oh_." Angela Fanning´s parents´ names appeared in gold script on the return address. "Angela and Raoul are getting married!"

Christine located the letter opener and withdrew the invitation, her eyes widening in horror as she examined the program which had come with it.

"May I?" asked Erik, his curiosity plain to see, and he chortled as he looked at the program.

"She´s _singing at her own wedding_!" Christine exclaimed. "I can´t believe it – she´s going to sing 'We´ve Only Just Begun' to Raoul!" She raised her hands to her head, lost in chagrin.

"She will only just have _begun_, I expect," supplied Erik, his eyebrow lifted. "I never thought it would come to this, Christine, but I must admit that I wish Mr. de Chagny the very best of luck – the very best indeed."

* * *

Lovemaking between them did not belong to the dark any longer, and the morning sunlight illuminated their bliss today, as it did on many days. Afterwards, Christine recovered in Erik´s arms, enjoying the morning sunlight.

"I had never dreamed of this," murmured Erik as he stroked Christine´s skin. "I had never dreamed I would come to love the angle of the sunlight, or the feeling of the earth´s tilting towards or away from the sun with the seasons. I merely thought myself fortunate for knowing how to appreciate the dark."

"What, you don´t care for the dark anymore?" Christine murmured lazily, and propped herself up on an elbow to look at him. She had to admit that his face in the morning sunlight was horrifying. She smiled.

"Of course I love the darkness, but in a completely different way now," he replied. A day´s growth of dark whiskers stood out against pale skin on one side of his face and motley flesh on the other. He kissed her, and the stubble scraped her chin.

"You´ve ruined some things for me, you know," he whispered, and his eyes held shadows within their steady glow.

Christine´s heart stilled and her smile faded, but she waited, saying nothing.

"There was a time when I could take a human life without thinking twice about it. You´ve ruined that for me. There was a time when I could cause pain, and not once look back to survey the landscape of agony I had left behind me. I never dreamed. No nightmares, no pleasant dreams – nothing. I barely slept.

"Now, you see, all that has changed; my life is precious, so now _all_ life is precious to me. And when I sleep – and I can never sleep if I am not beside you -- I dream of music, and of light breaking into a thousand colors through its prism."

Christine was silent and grateful, little knowing what to say, and happy to share with him the warm glow of their marriage bed.

She stretched and yawned. "You´ve been awfully busy with your compositions lately," she commented lazily.

"The Muse has been a veritable _lover_ to me lately," responded Erik, favoring his wife with a sly sideways glance.

"Our next recital´s only two weeks away," Christine observed, groaning.

"You _will _be ready."

Her public performances were as infrequent as Erik would permit. He was the impetus behind her budding career, but she continued to push against his will, preferring to spend as much time with her daughter as possible. She refused to travel, and she avoided parties and social events.

"Will Rombauer and Ross be there?"

"Of course. They have their roles to play."

Christine grinned. Some months previously, Erik, in a fit of aggravated pique, had revealed himself to be the true E. St. Amand to the two academics, who had refused to believe him. When he had supplied them with irrefutable evidence, however, Joe-John Ross had fainted and Zagreus Rombauer had cried like a baby. They had been disgraced, they knew, and they were certain that their careers were over.

When Erik had refused to have pity on them, unhappy with their constant harassment, Christine had intervened and forged an agreement between the men: Erik would agree to _remain deceased_, and Rombauer and Ross would promote his discoveries, while making certain all royalties from his musical works would find their way to a St. Amand bank account. The pair had agreed to leave the St. Amands in peace, and they had been true to their word.

Erik watched Christine as she dressed, but she was not uncomfortable with his staring. She was accustomed to it by now, and to the long honeymoon Erik had made of their marriage.

"You should buy some shoes," he said suddenly.

The remark took her completely by surprise. She had never gone shopping with Erik. Indeed, she scarcely needed to go shopping, ever, since he had a penchant for supplying her with clothing which had been tailored according to the dictates of his own tastes. The shoes in her closet were no different. All of them had been quietly supplied by Erik, except for two pairs of sneakers which she herself had chosen at a discount store out of nostalgia.

"Shoes?" she responded in astonishment. "I don´t need shoes! What would I do with more shoes?"

"You will see. I will take you shopping this very morning."

Christine was so surprised by the idea that she forgot to protest.

* * *

The surprise Christine felt at the idea that her husband would wish to take her shoe shopping increased to astonishment when Erik pulled into the parking lot of a strip shopping center. As she left the car, she looked at the blackened circles of ancient bubble gum festooning the sidewalk, and glanced at the patchwork of low-end cars and outright junkers populating the parking lot. This might have been her kind of place…seven years earlier. Now she felt oddly out of place.

"You´ve spoiled me." She said the first thing that popped into her head, and Erik smiled warmly.

"Is that so bad? If you _consider yourself _spoiled, then I have not done a thorough enough job of instilling a feeling of noblesse in you."

"You´re terrible, Erik! But why did you go to all the trouble of driving 20 miles to take me to a place like this? I could have shown you a place that´s much closer…"

"You will understand as soon as we enter the shop."

The shoe store, "Budget Shoes," was part of a national chain – it boasted plate-glass windows with the week´s sales painted on them in sweeping numbers. This week´s loss leader was obviously "Junior Works Thong Sandal´s!!! Just $14.99!!!" as the paint promised. Christine winced at the apostrophe and entered the shop with Erik.

"Can I help you?" Christine froze as she heard the voice, then looked at the woman who had addressed her.

It was Ashley Jacobs. She was dressed per her usual style, in a tight-fitting blouse and tight jeans. A jade charm bounced between her uplifted breasts, and she was chewing gum with her mouth slightly opened. In spite of the sudden roaring which filled her ears, Christine noted that the smell of nicotine which had always floated around Ashley was absent. The woman´s hair was shorter and now sported blonde highlights, and the makeup was not so heavy, but she was undoubtedly Ashley.

"Ashley Jacobs," Christine croaked, and her knees felt weak. Erik´s arm went about her waist, supporting her.

"Pardon?" said Ashley, and she failed to hide an impatient snort.

"We must beg _your_ pardon, Miss," interjected Erik smoothly. "My wife has obviously mistaken you for an old acquaintance of hers. What was her name, my dear? 'Ashley Jacobs'?"

"Nope. I´m Jenna – see my tag, honey?" said Ashley, shifting her weight onto her other foot with obvious ennui, and Christine´s eyes darted to her nametag. _Jenna Baker. _

"I…I see," rasped Christine, collecting herself gradually. _So, this is what Erik did with Ashley! _

She felt resentment at the ambush style with which Erik had revealed this final secret. So resentful was she, in fact, that she tried on ten pairs of particularly horrible shoes, including the $14.99 Junior Works sandals, and then insisted on buying them all. Complicating things was the fact that Ashley was a terrible salesperson. She was impatient, uncommunicative, rolled her eyes, popped her gum, and moved as slowly as possible.

"You may not have extracted a pound of flesh from me, but you have required an infinite amount of patience!" growled Erik as he loaded the shoeboxes into the trunk of the car. "It was worth it, though, just to see the woman literally _at your feet_."

"What did you do to her, Erik? You gave her amnesia?"

"I simply _reprogrammed_ her. It would have been a great deal less complicated to have had her exported to China!"

"The Chinese would have loved her just as much as we have," responded Christine with a shaky laugh. "But, you – you gave her a new identity?"

"That was part of what was accomplished."

"But if you could do that to her, why didn´t you do it back when she started making trouble for you? Why did you wait until later?"

"She refused a plea bargain, Christine. She wished for the power that forcing you to face her in open court would have afforded her, and she wished to use it against you as much as possible.

"I had never, _ever, _touched a woman with malicious intent before, Christine. I admit that I am governed by no rules other than those which I impose upon myself, but this had been a law which was sacred to me. Believe me, it would have simplified our lives had I _killed_ her early on, but I _could not. _Can you forgive me for all the useless torment we suffered – useless because, at the end, Ms. Jacobs would not surrender her final power, even for a lighter prison sentence? Only then was it clear to me that I would need to break my own law.

"In my defense, I must admit that I left a great deal of Ms. Jacobs´ reconstruction to Jeanne Guiry, who was helped by a trained psychologist. In the end, I merely supervised the pharmaceuticals administered and some of the re-education…"

Something clicked in Christine´s memory. "You made Mrs. Guiry stop drinking – and Ashley stopped smoking!"

Erik shrugged. "It was a convenient time to accomplish that, and the conditions were good. Mrs. Horowitz was especially helpful with that…"

"_Horowitz_?" Christine froze completely.

"I see that you remember your favourite counsellor!" Erik smiled, this time humourlessly. "You know, you really should not make a habit of telling our secrets to outsiders, Christine. I will be obliged either to make allies of them or kill them."

"But you said you don´t kill people now!" said Christine, nearly whispering.

"And that will remain true, as long as my wife never runs from me again." His eyes were on hers now, implacable.

"You can´t be afraid of that – not anymore, not now!"

He was silent.

_One more bridge to cross. _"I´ll never run away from you again, Erik. I promise."

A sigh shook him as he held her then, and an April breeze ruffled his hair. They clung to each other for a long while, incongruous against the tired urban backdrop of mottled old concrete, garish paint, and crumbling asphalt.

* * *

**8:00 am. Worklife and Family Counseling Services, TriCounty Hospital.**

_It__´s fantastic to have my agenda clear today until 10 this morning, _Joyce Horowitz mused as she approached her office door. _Maybe I can get caught up on some paperwork…_

She opened the door and was greeted by the sight of a toddler pulling herself up on tiptoe to look out the window. Her hair was a glorious riot of black curls, and she was chattering excitedly.

"Look at aw the cars!"

"I see them, dear." The child´s mother came into view, and Joyce saw with a shock that it was Christine.

"Christine," Joyce breathed, her face paling. "Please tell me you haven´t left that husband of yours again!"

"Why would she want to do a thing like that?" came Erik´s voice, and he drifted out of the corner where he had been lounging and approached Christine.

"What, are you thinking of leaving me, Christine?" Erik asked her, his mouth quirking in amusement. "Is it because of the fireworks last night?"

"Well, I _should_!" responded Christine, laughing. "The explosion was tremendous."

"Boom!" supplied Evelyn, nodding in agreement.

"Boom?" inquired Joyce tremulously.

"Well, yes – _boom_," said Christine. "You see, Erik destroyed his laboratory last night. He could have done it in any number of ways – now, you know it´s true, Erik – but do you know what he did?"

Joyce shook her head rapidly and swallowed.

"He handed me a remote control. It was like those remote controls in cartoons, you know – it only had _one button_ on it. And you know what he did?"

Another shake of the head.

"He told me, 'Push the button.' Just like that! Without explaining anything! Well, of course I didn´t push the button! I looked at him and asked him what would happen. He told me it would spoil the surprise…"

"It would certainly have ruined the surprise," interjected Erik.

"And that he wanted me to be the one who _did the honors. _So, after a lot of haranguing and arguing, he finally got me so mad that I just pushed the button…and then…"

"Boom!" giggled Evelyn.

"There was this _mushroom cloud _hovering over the fallout shelter – talk about irony…" continued Christine.

"I do enjoy a good joke," Erik interjected.

"…and thank goodness the wind was blowing the other way," Christine added.

"Of course I checked the direction of the wind!" exclaimed Erik.

"You…destroyed the lab?" asked Joyce.

"Yes. Both of us. Together," Christine nodded. "We agreed to a long time ago. It was the way Erik _did it_ though, that was…a bit of a surprise."

"You are here to discuss this as an issue causing conflict in your marriage?" Joyce dared to ask.

"Of course not! Joyce, Joyce…we´re here on a social visit," said Erik, his voice cool and soothing.

"We´re in town for a wedding, and we decided to drop in and say hello," said Christine, lifting Evelyn onto her hip.

"Exactly," agreed Erik, taking Evelyn from Christine and into his own arms. "You´ll ruin your back that way," he said as a quiet aside to his wife.

Christine rolled her eyes. "Well, anyway, Joyce, I just wanted you to know – I think after all that´s happened, you _deserve _to know – that life turned out okay for me. I really appreciate your listening to me, and all…"

"I really didn´t help much. And your husband…" Joyce eyed Erik nervously.

"You know, Joyce, how I feel about my wife," said Erik gently.

"Yes. Of course," said Joyce, repressing her fear of him. _I have seen what he can do. He is so powerful an enemy that when he offered to make me an ally, I knew I had no choice. Forgive me, Christine…_

"You are happy?" asked Joyce suddenly, her eyes fervent. She took Christine´s hands in her own.

Christine looked startled; then, she understood.

"I am, Joyce. Whatever you think of all that´s happened…whatever your impression has been of me – what I´ve been through, what I´ve felt – I want you to know that I am truly happy." She squeezed Joyce´s fingers.

They left her office, the very picture of a happy family. Joyce sighed, thinking of the corrections she had had to make in her thinking. _Yes, it is possible for one man with Erik St. Amand´s abilities to exist in the world. Yes, it is possible for such a man to love, and to love deeply. And it is quite possible for him to share happiness with a woman, even a family. The things life teaches you!_

_I need some aspirin…_


End file.
